Everyday Heroes
by Wings of Avalon
Summary: Not everyone can be a hero; that's just how the world works. America tries to prove the other Nations wrong, that he can be the hero everyone needs. But the day when America finally falls, it takes one everyday hero to show him what heroism truly means.
1. Trip

_Dedicated to the past and present memories of those who have died protecting our freedoms which we have always taken for granted._

"Thank you all for coming. The first order of business…" Germany intoned, shuffling his papers slightly. His slicked back blond hair gleamed in the lights of the meeting hall, his enormous height towering over the other Nations seated around the round table.

America, or better known as the United States of America, was sitting on the far side of the table from stoic Germany. He tried to listen to the rough, monotone voice as he dictated the order of business for the Nations that day. Honest, he _was_ trying. Although not known for his patience, he was always trying to be the hero, to make the world a better place for the rest of his international comrades. Lately, though…

"-erica? Herr America?"

He looked up, surprised to be caught off guard. He saw his twin brother, Canada, watching him curiously as he held Kumajirou, his miniature polar bear. America grinned, almost saluting the annoyed German. "The hero's here! No need to fear!" he shouted, jumping to his feet.

"I only vanted to know if you had any new reports for ze rest of ze Nations," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. His strict military training served him well during these meetings; on the other hand, his close friendship with northern Italy was probably what had aided him the most when dealing with these…_younger_ Nations.

America quickly sat down, grinning to hide the flush he felt creeping up his neck. "Nope! Nothing to report! I'm just that awesome!" he said in his usually loud voice.

He heard his older brother on his right sigh yet again. "Can't you at least pay attention for part of these meetings?!" he hissed quietly into his ear. America turned his head slightly to come face-to-face with England's massive bushy eyebrows. "Honestly Alfred…" he added softly.

America's eyes softened, hearing his brother use his human name. The existence of the Nations was an internationally well guarded secret. No civilians knew of them, and only the leaders of each country and several staff underneath them know about their secret. The Nations support their leaders; those leaders lead the Nations, not the other way around. So the embodied Nations created their own version of the United Nations, coming together several times each week to try and solve the world's crises. It was at one of these particular meetings, a Wednesday, where America was causing yet another scene. "Sorry Arthur," he said meekly, dipping his head in an apology.

The bushy brows furrowed together even further, creating a thick mono-brow over bright emerald green eyes. "Are you feeling alright?" he asked him, darting his eyes towards Germany as he continued to read off of his well written manuscript.

"Absolutely fine! Why do you ask?" he answered along with his trademark hero grin. Was it just him, or was their meeting room warmer than usual today? He shifted in his leather bomber jacket, his tan uniform underneath feeling unusually itchy.

Arthur looked upon his younger brother, worry evident on his face. Lately the young Nation that had once been under his care seemed distracted, restless. Of course he knew how often the two of them fought; it had been many years since he and Alfred had come to terms with each other for the Revolutionary War. Still, more often than not they were at odds with each other. Arthur smiled slightly as he readjusted himself in his chair; his younger brother had inherited his tenacity in droves.

Alfred sighed in relief as Arthur let up on him. He turned away, trying once again to focus on the blue uniformed Hessian barking out his usual orders.

* * *

"Alfred! Alfred, wait up!" a quiet voice called after the superpower.

America turned around in surprise, hearing his timid twin call for him. He waited for him to catch up, the blonde haired blue eyed Nation slightly out of breath, Kumajirou clutched tightly in his arms. "Mattie!" he said happily, smiling at him.

Matthew Williams, otherwise known as Canada and Alfred's identical twin, stood back up and smiled back at him. "I just wanted to talk to you after today's meeting," he told him in his usual hushed voice. His blue eyes blinked out from behind his glasses. "How are you?"

Alfred blinked in surprise. _Him too?_ "I'm great!" he told him, smiling a giant smile. "How have you been?"

Matthew looked at his brother. He may have fooled everyone else, but Matthew noticed everything. He noticed the (almost) imperceptible dark bags under his eyes, the extra wrinkles on his normally pristine uniform, and the reek of hydrogen peroxide and antiseptic. "Alfred, you aren't 'great.' I've noticed. Arthur has started to notice. Hell, even _Francis_ has finally noticed that you've been off lately. And it takes something extreme to move France's massive ego." Those baby blue eyes pleaded with him as he took a step closer. "Alfred, please…tell me what's wrong. What's happening to you?" he asked him in a scared voice.

The United States of America was taken aback. He was sure that he had been extremely careful; making sure all of his actions had been customary of him. _Matthew, Arthur, _and_ Francis?_ he thought to himself. He looked into the waiting face of his brother, whom he knew only wanted to help him. _Still…_ "Nothing's happening to me, Mattie. Just a little under the weather, you know, with the flu season and all. Maybe a little side case of that swine flu, but nothing a hero like me can't handle!" he finished, flashing his brother his trademark grin.

Canada blinked. "You're sure?"

Alfred took a step closer and ruffled his hair, causing the Nation to groan in protest at the affection being so lovingly bestowed on him. "I'm very sure. Just a good night's sleep tonight and I'll be as good as new in the morning." He yawned and stretched for good measure. "I have that trip to the Midwest tomorrow, so I'll see you at the next meeting on Friday then, right?"

Matthew, satisfied with Alfred's answers, nodded. "Alright. But call me if you start feeling any worse, okay? We can't have another Depression on our hands," he said with a knowing smile.

"Who knew all of the Nations had never had chicken pox?" Alfred answered with an equally knowing smile. He turned around, waving goodbye. "See you on Friday!" he called as he continued walking down the long corridor towards the personal rooms the Nations used to sleep in and refresh themselves when they were in conference. There were no guards on the inside of the compound, but they patrolled the perimeter of the building as well as maintained security at each of the four gates that surrounded the large complex. The Nations, when inside, fended for themselves; there was always a fully stocked kitchen, hot water, working swimming pool, and an exercise room. They had all the amenities they could ever need to contact their bosses as well: secure internet and phone connections linking them directly to their own countries.

Alfred grabbed his pass card out of his pocket, holding it up to the scanner on the right side of a plain door, near the handle. A green light and soft _click_ let him know that it was open. Turning the knob, he walked into his room, closing the door gently behind him. It was at that moment he slumped to the floor, clutching his stomach in considerable pain.

It had been there, on and off, for weeks now. Occasionally the pain would spike from a dull throb to shooting pains, so unbearable he could hardly move. And then…and then there were the Marks.

He knew the other Nations had Marks, with the kind of lives they lived. No, not their lives, _who_ they were. They were the Nations, they were their countries personified into flesh and blood beings that felt pain and suffering just as any other normal human who walked the earth did. However, the Marks came not from wounds of the flesh – cuts, scrapes, bullet wounds, swords, blades, arrows, and other manmade weapons – rather, the Marks came from the wounds felt upon his people as a whole. America had many wounds like those; scars that would fade with time, but not wholly. England, his older brother, had some of the same Marks. Even his trusting twin brother, Canada, had Marks.

However, what frightened him the most was that he did not have a Mark on his stomach. America knew, from experience, that parts of his body corresponded to the fifty states in which his union was created from. New York was the right side of his upper back; September eleventh was still quite raw and throbbed sporadically, but it had been eight years since then…since the Al Qaida terrorists attacked his home. He squeezed his eyes shut. The World Trade Center, the Pentagon, the farm field in Pennsylvania…all still burned and smoldered in his mind. The thousands of people who had died. The thousands more who had been hurt. And the thousands upon thousands more who were left behind to cry over them.

Since he had no Mark where the pain was the worst, America knew that he was experiencing something akin to apprehension and foreboding. He had felt it during the weeks leading up to Lexington and Concord, before the southern states split from the northern states to begin the Civil War, and many other notable crises in his history like both world wars, the Vietnam War, the Korean War, the Civil Rights Movement…he paused to smile amidst the pain. He missed Martin, one of the only civilians he had allowed himself to come into close contact with in his five hundred years plus of life so far. He had been a pacifist, just like Matthew, but was strong and a leader in every single way.

Alfred curled up in upon himself, clutching his stomach and willing the pain to go away. He didn't want something bad to happen again. Something bad was always happening to him, to America, the country that was supposed to be the hero that saves the day. He didn't want to worry Matthew, Arthur, or even Francis anymore. He had to be the strong one for them! If America fell, who would protect everyone then? He shook his head.

Slowly, he pulled himself up from the floor, locking the door behind him. Begrudgingly he dragged his feet over to his bed where he proceeded to sit down upon it gingerly, taking off his dark brown shoes and setting them next to the bed. Those were followed by his gloves and leather bomber jacket, which proceeded to drape over the armchair near the bed. Taking off his military jacket, he laid that over his bomber jacket and loosened his tie, throwing it on the pile as well. Finally beginning to cool off, Alfred laid his weary body down on the bed, resting his head on the soft pillows.

Alfred knew that he was sick. The constant fevers as of late, breaking out in harsh sweats which only led to shaking chills, and the stomach pains that came and went as they pleased. He should tell someone, or at least see a doctor, but that would mean showing his vulnerable side to everyone. He buried his head in the pillows, relishing in their cool temperature against his flushed skin. _Maybe…_ he thought to himself. _Maybe after my trip tomorrow and Friday's meeting…maybe I'll tell Matthew. He wouldn't tell anyone. I know he wouldn't._

* * *

Alfred blinked sleepily into the bright morning sunshine, forgetting he had left the shade up when he had fallen asleep not long after his flight began. He had boarded a small puddle jumper to Wisconsin, only three other passengers on board besides himself. There were of course the pilot and copilot, and one very nice flight attendant. Looking down, he smiled to see that she had covered him with a blanket sometime during his nap. Shifting, he looked outside of the plane to see fluffy white clouds sailing passed as the small plane raced through open skies. He couldn't see the ground far below him, but assumed they must be over Ohio or Michigan at least by now.

"Good morning sir," a cheerful voice chirped from his left. The Nation turned to see the flight attendant smiling at him. "How was your nap?"

"Very nice, thank you," he answered politely, one of the few results of having spent several hundred years with a strict Englishman. "And thank you for the blanket."

"Oh, you are welcome sir. It does get a bit chilly on these smaller crafts, and besides…you're one of our best customers," she added with a wink. "I came to tell you that we are currently beginning our descent to Mitchell International. If you would be so kind as to buckle your seatbelt and put away any items into the compartment next to you?"

"Of course," he answered immediately, sitting up and shrugging off the blanket. As he handed it to the flight attendant, he shivered. It was freezing without the extra layer of protection the blanket had provided, even with his bomber jacket on. "How is the temperature?" he asked the woman.

"Oh? In Wisconsin? Well, considering it is November, it should be Indian summer right about now. So probably anywhere from forty to sixty degrees Fahrenheit." A loud ding suddenly sounded above their heads, and the captain's voice crackled through the speakers.

_"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are now beginning our final descent into Mitchell International Airport. Please fasten all seat belts and prepare for landing. We thank you for flying Midwest Airlines, and please come fly with us again."_ Another ding ended the captain's small speech.

"Well, I should go and seat myself as well," the flight attendant told him with a smile.

"Yes, and thank you again," he added as he grabbed the two small straps and buckled himself in tightly. The flight attendant nodded and took the blanket and herself towards the back of the plane. Without delay Alfred felt the plane tipping forwards as it aimed for the ground several thousand feet below him. He was at least grateful that he would be inside the warm airport within the half hour, sipping on a nice warm cup of coffee and munching on a hamburger. His mouth watered at the thought; he hadn't had much of an appetite for his favorite food lately, so noting that he was actually looking forward to the meal brightened his spirits considerably.

"Thank you for flying Midwest Airlines. Have a wonderful day ma'am. Thank you for flying with us today," the flight attendant intoned as one by one the four passengers disembarked. Alfred walked by her and smiled, nodding to her and the waiting pilots. He had already put his gloves on and shoved them in the pockets of his jacket as he traversed the corridor connecting the plane to the entrance into the airport. As he walked through the last corrugated tunnel a wonderfully warm breeze hit him full blast in the face. Alfred relished in it, basking in the warmth as he made his way out towards the food court.

Several minutes and several dollars later, Alfred was sipping on a hot jet black beverage and eating his favorite food. Well, his first favorite food; his second was apple pie. Munching on the greasy goodness, he looked around the airport at the midday traffic. It was around eleven in the morning; the early morning flights had left, giving way to other early morning flights arriving from cities around the country just as he had. Not many people knew this, and he knew it was probably the same with the other Nations: Alfred was a people watcher. More than anything else he loved to watch his people walking around during their daily lives, hearing their laughter, hearing them conversing with each other, even hearing them argue and forgive each other later. Especially his middle states. The people in the Midwest were so…so _nice_. They always held doors open for each other, helped pick up spilt money or groceries, said please and thank you, and never failed to point you in the right direction if you were lost.

Hearing an arrival announcement come over the speakers, Alfred sighed and stood up. _I had better get going if I want to see anything before I leave tonight_, he thought to himself as he shoved the last bite of his burger in his mouth, opting to take the coffee with him. Going with the flow, he followed the steady stream of people down the escalators and in the direction of the open doors that lead towards the open air. The sun was shining dazzlingly, but as soon as Alfred stepped outside…_brr._ Indian summer? Ha! It was absolutely _freezing_ out here. He shivered and pulled his jacket tighter around him, clutching his coffee and taking a large gulp of it as he walked towards the taxi service station to warm himself up.

Several men had gathered around the small booth, chatting as they waited for customers. Neither of the two taller men noticed him, but a shorter and slightly stockier man saw Alfred approaching them. "Need a ride?" he asked him in a thickly accented voice.

_Russian_, America immediately thought. _Or at least from one of his brother or sister countries._ "Yes please." He shivered again, holding tight to his Styrofoam cup. Who would have thought with his suit, military uniform, bomber jacket, _and_ gloves on he would still be cold?

"One moment," the man told him. He leaned towards the booth and shouted something to the man inside with his native tongue, before turning around and heading towards the nearest cab. It was bright yellow, like all taxis, but it reminded America of Russia's love for sunflowers. Ivan was always trying to grow them in his frigid country, several greenhouses full of them surrounding his small palace. "Here we go. After you," the cabbie said, holding the door open for Alfred.

He gratefully slid into the cab, noting with relief that the cold disappeared as soon as the man had closed the door. It reappeared briefly as he opened the driver's side door and slid in himself. Turning the key in the ignition the taxi started up with a modest rumble, the cabbie immediately turning on the heat for his shivering customer. "So, where to today?" he asked him as he put the cab in reverse.

"Downtown please."

"Anywhere in particular?"

"The intersection of Water and State streets, if you please."

* * *

"Here you are. Corner of Water and State. Fifteen dollars please," the man said gruffly but nicely.

Alfred dug the fifteen dollars out of his pocket, resigned to leave the nice warm cab. He grabbed an extra ten and placed it in the man's hands. "Thanks for the ride," he told him gratefully.

The man looked surprised at the large tip. "Are you sure about this?"

"Use it for your daughter's birthday present," he told him with a smile as he opened the door.

The man's mouth dropped open, hanging there like a fish out of water. "But-but how did you-?!"

Alfred closed the yellow metal door before the man had time to ask him any more questions. Quickly walking away, he began to head east towards the lake front. It had been quite a while since he had been here last; he had heard that the new art museum was finally finished. It had wings like a bird, and with a few mechanical wonders several times a day would lift them up and down as if the entire building were flying.

A chilling breeze suddenly picked up, blowing the faux fur of his jacket against the skin of his neck. Alfred pulled it close to him, ducking his head down and shoving his hands into the deep pockets. The sun may have been shining, but it was still November after all. _And_ it was Wisconsin. Wisconsin, according to the locals, only had two seasons: winter and construction. Still, he continued walking east, slowly coming closer and closer to Lake Michigan. Cars raced passed him, occasionally honking at each other, but moving along merrily towards lunchtime. There were also plenty of people on foot, enjoying the nice albeit cooler weather. Most were of the younger generation, college students from any one of the local campuses.

Alfred watched as one particular couple walked by him; hand in hand, laughing at some little secret between the two of them. Captivated, he paused to watch them, turning around in the middle of the sidewalk to see them strolling in the direction he had just come from. The woman leaned into the taller man, squeezing his arm and laughing yet again at something he said. He threw his head back, laughing a deep laugh as well.

America smiled, watching his people enjoying life to its fullest. It was at that moment that his stomach pains came back, fiercer than they had ever been before. Alfred doubled over, clutching the muscles around his middle and squeezing his eyes shut tight. It felt like someone was stabbing him repeatedly, over and over again. He fell to his knees in the middle of the sidewalk, but he knew he shouldn't stay there. He couldn't let anyone know who he was _or_ what he was. Otherwise his family, his friends, all of the other Nations, would be in terrible danger.

Bile rising in his throat, he stumbled forward and darted down a small side alley littered with enormous green garbage bins. Tripping over a manhole cover he fell against the dirty concrete, finally losing the battle with his stomach and retching all over the spotted gray ground. Over and over, even seeing parts of his beloved burger again, until there was nothing left except a watery pink substance. Alfred's eyes widened in fear, seeing the pink fluid, until he felt something else…something _warm _and_ sticky_ on his hands. Looking down, he started shaking in terror as he brought his hands away from his stomach, his bright crimson blood drenching his gloves. One last heaving stab of pain clouded all other thoughts as the United States of America fell limp to the ground, his eyes rolling up in the back of his head.

His glasses tumbled to the ground, the glass shattering into one dozen tiny pieces.


	2. Strangers

The wind bit coldly into her as the woman walked down the street, headfirst into the freezing gale. At least, that was what it felt like. She pulled the zipper up as far as it would go on her dark brown jacket, glad she had decided to bring her gloves that day. Her bag jingled with the miscellaneous items inside of it as she jumped over some garbage someone had thrown down onto the sidewalk.

She was walking home from a long day of work, having been at school since seven that morning for an early rehearsal. Teaching at one of the local high schools as an orchestra teacher, she was slowly working on expanding the program and raising the bar for her kids. Of course, this was her first year out, fresh from college, so it wasn't easy without her professorial safety net, but she was having the time of her life. Sure it was early mornings and late nights, but she was helping these kids make better use of their lives – rather than going to drugs, alcohol, substance abuse, teen pregnancy, or heaven forbid dropping out.

Her school was on the east side of the city, near the lake front. On some days, if it was clear enough, you could see the blue wonder from the farthest window in her large classroom. Often enough she found herself walking the beaches either early in the morning or later at night when the sun set, but now after a _very_ long day all she wanted was to get to her nice warm apartment, settle in with some soup, and continue reading her book. She was only a few blocks away from it now, one of the many high rise buildings in the area.

"And they said it was supposed to be Indian summer now," she mumbled crossly to herself, rubbing her hands together. The fast fading light brought on a secondary coldness to the air, taking away the life giving warmth and replacing it with deathly still shadows. The area she was walking in wasn't very crowded at this time of the day, but there were still people here and there making their way to their own homes to be with their families. Her parents lived in one of the outlying counties, a drive of maybe twenty minutes or so, but they were gone on an extended trip out of state at the moment. She had set her career before everything else, so there was no special someone waiting for her when she got home either.

Sighing, she shivered once more, her entire body shaking. However, because she had only closed her eyes for a moment, the woman ended up tripping over a bump in the concrete and falling flat on her face.

"Ah!" she cried, at least extending out her hands in front of her to break her fall. Even so, she hit the cement hard, twisting her wrist a little and banging her right knee square against the flat surface. "Ow," she exclaimed with a wince, slowly sitting up. She looked around quickly, but no one was really paying any attention to her. She quickly inspected herself for any bodily injuries. Her glove had protected her hand from the concrete, but it was still a little sore. Her knee, on the other hand, had a decent size scrape and a wonderfully ragged hole in her stocking just under the hem of her skirt. _I just bought these too!_ she complained to herself. Even so, she was just about to rise to her feet when she noticed an odd spot staining the concrete in front of where she fell.

_ What's that?_ She leaned forward as she sat there, looking at the dark spot. It was starting to get dark out, but she made out that it was some kind of thick liquid. Reaching into the side pocket of her bag, she whipped out her cell phone and flicked it on, the bright light shining down onto the mysterious substance.

She jumped backwards, startled, when she realized that the substance was a deep crimson color. _Blood._ She quickly looked all around her, seeing if someone was possibly hurt. Luckily enough, or maybe not so lucky, she noticed several more spots leading into the alleyway to her immediate right. Standing up she ignored her protesting knee and hobbled down the alleyway, her phoning shining left and right. The large green waste containers that the department stores and restaurants used were lined up smartly on either side of her, like metal soldiers standing at attention.

She froze suddenly, hearing a soft moan. Swallowing nervously, she cautiously took several more steps forward, flashing her makeshift flashlight, until the small beam landed upon a shod foot hidden between two of the dumpsters. She ran up to the person, kneeling down to check them with her phone's light.

It was a young man, and couldn't have been more than a few years older than she was. She could see he was wearing some type of brown uniform under a classy leather bomber jacket, faux fur around the collar and all. He was lying on his side, his hands wrapped around his midsection, with a large puddle of dried vomit not too far from his head. The young woman also identified the source of the blood as well; the front of his uniform and his hands were stained with the substance, leaking onto the ground to form another small puddle as well.

"Sir! Sir, are you alright?" she quickly asked him, placing her phone down next to her. She shook his shoulders gently, but hard enough to wake him, as she had been taught in her first aid class. All he did was moan slightly, but that at least meant that he was still alive. She shook her head, placing a hand on his cheek. Her mouth gaped open; he was running a fever! _He probably got mugged,_ she thought to herself. Forgoing all sense of restraint, she set her bag down next to him and rolled him onto his back, laying his head on the bag. The injured man only moaned more as he was moved, delirious from loss of blood. "Hang on sir, I'll call 911 for you, they'll be here soon. Just…hang on, okay? You'll be fine."

As the woman picked up her phone from where it lay on her left, she rapidly started dialing the numbers. She shrieked and almost wet herself when the supposedly unconscious man suddenly grabbed her arm, his eyes wide open as he tried to speak to her. She was mesmerized by how blue his eyes were…as blue as a cloudless summer sky in early August.

"N-no…no hos…hospital…" he choked out, his fingers clamped around her arm like a vice.

"But you could die!" she cried back to him.

"W…won't…die…" he stammered, before his fingers loosened on her and he started to fall back.

The woman jumped from where she sat and grabbed him around his shoulders, catching him and carefully lowering him to the ground. She grabbed his left hand, quickly checking his pulse. It was slow, but it was there. Shaking her head, she didn't know what to do. Of course people had the right to refuse medical attention, but those people were just idiotic! _Like this one here_, she mentally grumbled. Still, she couldn't just _leave_ him there, he'd die! So she did the only thing that she could think of.

Carefully, she checked over his clothes. The blood had stained the jacket he wore under his leather coat, as well as his gloves, but not much else. Being wary of the blood she gently took off his gloves and set them next to her, followed by zipping up his leather jacket. Satisfied that most of the blood wasn't showing, she got up and quickly walked around to his other side and bent down. She lifted his head gently with her right arm and supported him while grabbing her bag out from under him. Throwing it over her left shoulder she then proceeded to hook her arm across his back and under his other arm. The woman then threw his left arm over her back and grabbed it with her left hand, using it as leverage as she slowly began pulling him upwards.

"Come on, let's get up. You can do it," she encouraged him in a soft voice, as if he were one of her students.

Alfred blinked once or twice, his mind too foggy to really comprehend what was going on. However, somewhere in his mind he realized this stranger was trying to help him, so he did his best to try and get his unresponsive body to work. He pulled himself – with a lot of help from her – to a sitting position, and then the woman took over and began pulling him upwards to his feet. She was a lot stronger than she looked; although leaning sideways at times or almost toppling the two of him with his dead weight, in a few minutes she managed to drag the feverish and almost unconscious man to his feet with the bulk of his weight leaning into her.

"There you go, atta boy," she murmured in her soft voice to him. "Now let's get to my place. It isn't far from here, I promise."

~:~:~

After receiving many strange glances, and giving several rationales of having drunk too much, Alfred and the strange but kind woman finally reached an inconspicuous ten story building in the heart of the downtown area. "Here we are, almost there," she promised him.

Walking across the small outdoor carpet the automatic doors opened with a soft _whoosh_ and a blast of warm air encircled the couple. The small lobby consisted of the check-in desk, the door to the building manager's office, a door leading off to the first floor apartments, and two shiny stainless steel elevators.

"Evening miss!" piped the man sitting behind the desk as he looked up from his magazine. His smile turned into a questioning frown as he took in the sight of a handsome tall man leaning drunkenly upon the almost six foot woman. "You alright there miss? Need any help?"

"No, no, but thank you Bill. Just had a little too much, if you know what I mean," she answered with a nervous laugh.

"Alright, if you're sure," he said, his frown turning into an understanding smile. "Tomato juice with a big shot of pepper always puts me right in the morning," he added with a wink.

"I'll be sure to let him know," the woman replied as she helped the man towards the elevators. Pressing the button, it only took a few seconds for the doors to spring open, and for the two of them to hobble inside of it. As the doors closed, she sighed, an enormous weight seeming to have lifted from her shoulders. "Alright. Up we go," she sang, as she pressed the button for the eighth floor.

Zooming up, she paused for a moment to study Alfred. He was handsome, with short blonde hair; a wisp of it curled up in the middle, almost comically mocking the rest of his neat hair. She had seen how blue his eyes were before when he had first awoken; such a pure blue that she had never seen, except for a newborn baby's. He wore some type of military uniform – she wasn't sure which branch, but military nonetheless. His leather bomber jacket was soft, the faux fur lining his neck even softer, and was adorned with the number fifty on the back and a yellow star with a circle around it over the left side of his chest.

However, something was slightly off about him. She had sensed something earlier, but she thought it had been due to the garbage in the alley. Still, she smelled it now; he smelled like the city: fresh asphalt, exhaust from cars, garbage residue, greasy hamburgers. He also smelled like a fresh breeze off the lake, flowers after a spring rain, the crispness of new fallen snow, and her grandmother's apple pie. She didn't understand it, unless it was the anxiety that was building up inside of her because of what exactly she was doing: taking an injured man back to her apartment…alone.

The ding of the elevator startled her out of her strange thoughts, and the doors opened to reveal a bright white hallway with navy blue spotted carpeting on the floors. Doors lined the hallway on both sides, shiny brass plates indicating the numbers of the apartments. "Come on," she said with a tug as she started to walk slowly out of the elevator, hoping none of her neighbors would suddenly walk out to greet her.

The man grunted, dragging his feet along the carpeting as he leaned on her even further. Ignoring her discomfort the two of the walked down the hallway passed many doors until they reached one that read 814. "Home sweet home," she whispered to him, letting go of his left hand to dig into her pocket to retrieve her keys. The jingling woke the man slightly, startling him.

"W-what? Where?" he murmured.

"My home; you're safe now. Let's go in and get you cleaned up, okay?" the woman told him as the door swung inwards. "Come on. You can do it. Almost there," she encouraged him as step by step he entered her abode. Once they cleared the door, she used her foot to shut it behind him quickly and with a loud _bang._

The woman sighed in relief, glad that she had left a lamp on to come home to. Her small apartment consisted of her front living room and the kitchen just behind that, and a short hallway off to her left where her bedroom and bathroom were. She shrugged off her bag, leaving it in a messy pile next to the front door, and maneuvered the man back towards her bedroom. "I'm going to get you cleaned up, alright? I'm licensed in first aid, so unless you were stabbed or shot or something you'll be fine," she told him jokingly. _Note to self: that was NOT funny_, she groaned to herself in her mind.

"S'okay," the man murmured to her. "M'fine," he added, slurring his words.

"No, you're not," she told him firmly, rounding the corner behind her leather sofa as their shoes click-clacked across the wood flooring. "You needed help. I wasn't going to just _leave_ you there to die." She saw the nightlight on in her bathroom, helping her to see her way down the short but darkened hallway, but turning the opposite way she had to stop at her doorframe, reach with her right arm from behind the man's back, and switch on the lights to reveal her small but comfortable bedroom.

There was a queen size bed with a chocolate comforter on it with lots of fluffy pillows. On either side of the bed were two nightstands, with lamps on both but an alarm clock and several books on the left one. Her dresser and mirror occupied the wall across from the bed, and her decently sized closet was closed to prying eyes on her immediate left. The only window in the room, which was directly across from the door, had silk curtains on either side of it but drawn mini blinds shutting out most of the city skyline.

"Here, sit down," she instructed him. They walked the last few feet until she turned them around and sat both of them on the bed. "Finally," she told him. That had to have been the longest thirty minutes of her life, dragging an almost unconscious and bleeding man five blocks to her apartment. Immediately she began to clean him up. His gloves she had stuffed in her pockets, which is where they stayed when she took off her coat and threw it over a chair in the corner of the room. She then immediately unzipped the man's leather jacket, and slid it off of his body, with a little maneuvering him on her part. She could see the wide stain of blood across his front, but she had to get most of his clothes off first in order to treat him.

"I'm sorry, but we're going to have to take off most of your clothes," she said, dipping her head to hide her blush as she began undoing the buttons on the jacket of his uniform. It came off easily, along with the brown leather straps that went around his waist and across his chest. She tossed those onto the floor as well. "Next comes your shirt," she told him in a gentle voice. The man was still unresponsive. Continuing on, she loosened his tie, tossed it in the growing pile, and began unbuttoning what was once a crisp white dress shirt. Her fingertips were tinged red from the blood that had soaked into his clothes, but she didn't care at that point. Finally slipping the long sleeved shirt off of him, she was horrified to see the mess of blood and cuts across the middle portion of his stomach.

"How horrible," she whispered, but at the same time blushing even more profusely when she saw how sculpted his chest was. _No! Stop that! This isn't a time to be admiring his physique!_ she scolded herself. She tossed the shirt onto the floor, and finally helped the man to lie down on the bed. Pausing in her work, she ran to her bathroom and grabbed her (thankfully) empty laundry bin and tossed the blood stained clothes into it.

"Now to clean you up," she told the unconscious man. He was sleeping soundly, but his breaths were coming out in short pants, as if he was still feeling the pain even in his sleep. Her heart constricted painfully in her chest, wanting to know how someone could ever hurt such a kind looking man such as him. Turning around she dashed into her bathroom, throwing open the storage closet. She grabbed several rolls of gauze and ace bandages, antiseptic, hydrogen peroxide, triple antibiotic ointment, and those little packages of wet wipes. Those were all seized and dashed into her bedroom and sat carefully on her nightstand. Her second trip was to her kitchen for a large bowl which she filled with hot water, grabbing several washcloths on the way back.

Rolling up her sleeves, she noticed she still had on her school clothes. "Oh well, I guess it was time to do laundry anyway."

~:~:~

About an hour later, she was finished. The bloody mess on Alfred's stomach was gone, replaced with heavily medicated gauze bandages and kept it place with several ace bandages. The bowl of hot water was now red, and her washcloths were dyed red as well. Those had been tossed in the laundry basket with the rest of the bloody clothes too. She smiled, satisfied, to note that not even one drop of blood had made it onto her clean comforter.

She sighed, and began cleaning up her mess. However, as she did, her mind wandered back to the horrific sight she had witnessed on the man's stomach. If she thought that this senseless mugging had been bad before, she figured now that his attacker may have had a purpose. But the word that had been carved into his stomach…what did it mean…? Who would have carved-

_Rrrrriiiiiinnnnnnggggg!_ The woman groaned. Her hands were filthy with blood and the antibiotic cream; she couldn't answer it, but she should get it off of her hands to call whoever it was back right away. She walked out into her kitchen with the bowl of bloody water and dumped it down her sink. As she turned the warm water on softly, her answering machine picked up.

_"Hello, you've reached 536-6437. I can't come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number, I'll call you back as soon as possible! Thanks and have a great day!"_

_ Beeeeeepppp!_ "Girl, have you seen the news? Well, probably not since you've been in school all day…but turn on channel 6! There's been a big shooting down in Texas, and a lot of people have been killed! They say some guy went crazy down there at a military base. Listen, call me when you get this message, okay? Be careful out there, alright? Talk to you soon." The energetic female voice sounded very concerned as she hung up.

_A shooting? Not another one_, she sighed as she finished cleaning out the blood from under her fingernails. _It seems like every other day now._ She shook her head and let the faucet run down the drain, watching as the reddened water vanished out of sight. _And a victim of a mugging half naked in my bedroom to boot. Speaking of which…_

She turned around, switching on her kitchen light before heading back into her bedroom where the man lay, still fast asleep. She had moved him a little, in order to wrap the bandages around him, so his head was up on her pillows now. His chest moved up and down in a steady rhythm, his flushed skin moist with sweat. Now that she was thinking about it, he would probably be more comfortable underneath the covers. What was that rhyme? Starve a cold and feed a fever? Or was it feed a cold and starve a fever? Either way she remembered from when she was younger her mom always covering her with an awful amount of blankets when she was sick into order to break her fevers.

Swallowing nervously, she approached the bed carefully. Starting with his shoes, she untied the laces and slipped off the brown dress shoes, followed by his tan socks. She placed the socks with the rest of the laundry, but put his shoes next to the chair where their coats had been tossed earlier. Now…pants…she sweat dropped at this. She was a good Christian girl; you know, marriage before anything else. She had never even see a guy in only his underwear before, but she was about to get her first glimpse and the receiving party was going to be unconscious the entire time…hopefully.

Blushing furiously, she approached his midsection and stared at the offending button and zipper. Reaching down, she grabbed the brass button and squeezed her eyes shut. Going by feel only, she slipped the metal through the hole. Next, she felt the zipper right next to her index finger. She grabbed it with just her right hand, quickly pulling her left away, and heard the telltale _zwip!_ as she pulled it down. When she felt resistance, she knew she had to open her eyes. Looking down, she snorted, trying to hold in her laughter.

Staring up at her were the red and white stripes of the American flag, with a tiny corner of blue with a few stars peeking out from behind the tan fabric. _Very patriotic_, she commented mentally. As she giggled softly, she reached her fingers into the pockets of his pants and quickly pulled them past his ankles and tossed the last piece of clothing into the basket. Satisfied, she gently began pulling down the comforter from underneath him, slipping it behind his back until she freed it from under his legs. The woman pulled it over him, being careful of the injury on his stomach, until the soft material rested just underneath his chin.

Alfred was still sweating, his fever raging as it fought the possible infection inflicted through the gaping wounds on his stomach. She touched his forehead, noting how hot he was against her hand. _A cool compress will probably help to draw the fever out too_, she thought to herself. _But at least he should be out of danger by now._ Looking around the room, she began with grabbing the basket of bloody clothing and walking down the hall to a small closet just passed her bathroom where her washing machine and dryer sat in wait.

She flipped the metal lid upwards and began to take the items out one by one. First the rags she cleaned him up with, followed by his socks, shirt, pants, and jacket. She didn't want to be nosy, but she had no idea who this man was. Digging through the pockets in his pants she found a receipt for a hamburger and medium coffee from a McDonald's at Mitchell International, and the stub of a plane ticket from New York. Try as she might, she couldn't find any other form of identification on him.

Shaking her head, she dumped the articles of clothing into the wash, poured detergent over them, and snapped the lid shut before turning the dial and hearing the telltale rush of water. _Alright, so he arrived on a plane here today, and had lunch at the airport commons. But no wallet, no driver's license, no credit cards, no nothing! How could he have flown hundreds of miles without anything? I mean, what if something happe – oh, right. Something _did_. Now what though?_

She stared down at the white washing machine as it continued to fill with water. Never had she encountered a situation like this before, but how was she going to let his family or friends know he was alright? Maybe she could find out about his flight online, and check the passenger list. However…at that moment she yawned, opening her mouth so wide that her jaw cracked. She shook her head. First things first.

Now that the washing machine was chattering happily in the background, she went back to her room where the stranger was sleeping. Ever so quietly she tiptoed over to her dresser and opened up the top drawer, grabbed a pair of sleep pants and a tank top, and shut it again. Tiptoeing back out, she closed the door behind her. Slipping into the bathroom she washed herself up and donned the pajamas, tossing her school clothes into the hamper. They didn't have much blood on them, but she didn't want to mix hers in with the rest of it just in case. She took the medicine and bandages that had been out and bandaged the large scrape on her knee, cleaning out the dirt and asphalt. Checking her wrist, it was slightly bruised but not sprained. In the mirror she noticed that her extremely curly hair had decided to act on its own again; she grabbed a band from the cabinet over her sink and pulled it up into a quick ponytail.

Now that she was clean and felt much better, she went to the kitchen to grab yet another of her clean washcloths. Running it under cold water, her mind began to wander about the strange man. _No identification, nothing to tell anyone who he is. And his smell…_ she shivered at the thought. _It was…so familiar, yet so peculiar. Like I've known it my whole life._

A sudden coughing fit from the back room brought her up out of her musings and had her dashing through her apartment and throwing the door open. Alfred was clutching his chest, coughing and wheezing. The woman sprinted next to him, trying to figure out what the problem was. Since she couldn't tell, she ran back to her bathroom, grabbed her glass and filled it with cool water, and brought it back to him. She sat down at the head of the bed and used her right arm to tilt his head forward. "Here, drink this," she told him gently. "It will help."

Dry, parched lips found the smooth rim of glass and the promise of relief just beyond it. Tipping it back, she allowed him to drink in small sips until it was gone, and his chest heaves had subsided. Placing the glass on the nightstand, she laid him lightly back onto her bed. Taking the cold washcloth from where it lay she placed it on his hot forehead, spreading it out flat. He jerked awake in surprise, his eyes opening in fear, seeing nothing but a darkened ceiling. "Who-?!" he started, before a finger was placed on his lips.

"Shh, don't worry, you'll be fine. Just get some rest."

The voice was comforting and gentle, the nicest thing he had heard all day. Alfred barely remembered closing his eyes, enjoying the soft touch of the cloth on his forehead. The smooth hands caressed his hair, like a mother would, and spoke to him in a quiet voice until he felt himself finally drifting off into a deep and peaceful slumber, not realizing that none of his family or friends knew what had happened to him.

He was utterly alone, solely relying on the help of this compassionate stranger.


	3. Breakdown

_He could only feel the pain…the pain of his people coursing through him, ripping him apart as they cried in anguish. Alfred tried to find them in the darkness, to comfort them, to ask them why they were in such distress. He swung his hands out in all directions, but came into contact with nothing more than the all-consuming darkness. "Where are you?" he cried. "I can't see you! Please, tell me where you are so I can help you!"_

Too late…_a raspy voice suddenly whispered in his ear._ You are too late…

"No!" Alfred screamed, sitting up in the bed and reaching out to the voice. A wet washcloth went unnoticed as it suddenly flew across the bed, having done nothing to earn such harsh treatment. He suddenly blinked, closing his mouth.

The bright sunshine tried to peek around pulled curtains on a window to his right, but still managed to illuminate the room. Slowly he took in his surroundings. He was in a very large bed, and directly across from him was a long mahogany dresser with a dressing mirror over it. Several boxes and bottles arranged in a tasteful manner sat on top of it. To the right of the dresser was a plush armchair in a dark blue, while a set of double doors to the left probably led to a closet full of clothes. Turning his head even farther, he saw a nightstand on either side of the bed, lamps on each, but on his left was an alarm clock and several thick looking books.

After taking a slow but detailed account of the room, Alfred's breathing and heart rate had finally slowed down to an almost normal rate. He blinked several times, and then realized as he was sitting there his chest was getting cold. Looking down, Alfred made a very unmanly _eep!_ "Why am I naked?!" he cried out loud. However, as he began to cover himself with the dark brown comforter, he noticed his stomach wrapped quite neatly with gauze and ace bandages. He touched the area gingerly, wincing as he felt a small stab of pain in doing so.

He was about to get out from under the covers when he noticed the wet cloth at the end of the bed. Obviously he was not the only person here…wherever _here_ was. It was a feminine room, with the taste in furniture and boxes of makeup and jewelry on the dresser. And besides…it was _clean_. Alfred knew by most of his fellow Nations standards, that those who were male tended to be disgusting slobs in their own personal abodes, unless of course they were nitpickers from birth; Arthur, of course, with Matthew taking after him well in that respect.

Either way, he sidled his way slowly to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over the side. A stab of pain made him pause, gasping, but it wasn't too bad. He could live with it. Throwing the covers behind him, Alfred stood up slowly to his full height, noting that the room swam around him as he swayed back and forth. He closed his eyes, covering them with his hand, until he no longer felt the dizzy spell taking over. Once that was accomplished, he removed his hand and opened his eyes back up, taking several experimental steps towards the door.

He knew he was weak; his body protested the entire journey…all four steps of it. Leaning heavily against the door, Alfred took in several deep gulps of air, steadying himself. As he stood there panting, he saw a small bathroom to his right, a closet straight in front of him, and another hallway to his immediate left. Deciding quickly, he began dragging his feet along with him as he used the wall for support, working his way slowly down the hallway. Not surprisingly he found himself in a well decorated room; simple, minimalist. There was a kitchen on his right, a small island with cabinets above it separating itself from the rest of the living and dining rooms, which were combined into one. The small table next to him, which he used to lean on next, was only large enough for two people, the exact amount of chairs sitting at it.

Beyond the table and chairs there was a small sitting area, a plush sofa with an attached chaise as well as another comfortable looking chair, a coffee table, and a larger television with several devices underneath it. A few of the walls had paintings or posters on them, but what caught Alfred's eye was the spectacular view of the lake he could see through the blinds. Since the sun was so bright out today, the blue water sparkled as it washed up onto the beach in the distance. White sailboats drifted lazily on the water in the distance, while the world continued on without them.

Alfred moved his hand from the back of the wooden chair to the oversized stuffed one, taking in the view with a smile. However, it was at that moment that the not so subtle sounds of someone snoring softly drew his attention to the sofa. Turning his head slowly, the first thing he spied was a mop of extremely curly brunette hair on the end closest to him. They were wrapped in a thick white blanket decorated with black curlicues, their back moving up and down in a slow rhythm. He raised an eyebrow, curious, as he gradually tried to walk over to see who exactly this person was.

He made it precisely five steps before the pain in his stomach reminded him that his was not completely well yet. Giving out a cry of distress, Alfred tumbled to the floor, grasping his midsection.

His shout woke the person sleeping on the sofa immediately, jumping up to see what was the matter. With less than half a head turn they saw Alfred, tossed the blanket onto the chaise, and jumped to the floor. "Hey! Hey, are you alright? You shouldn't be up yet!" a woman's voice scolded him in a concerned tone.

He didn't care whether she was angry with him at that moment, or the fact that he was only in his underwear. All he could think of was the pain in his stomach; curling himself into a fetal position, he scrunched his eyes shut and bit his lip, groaning slightly.

"Hey, hey…look at me, alright?" the voice asked him a little more gently. "Just open your eyes."

Alfred cracked an eye open, a face swimming into view. Her eyes, a rich emerald green, peeked out from underneath dark lashes, her even darker curly hair obstructing most of her face as she was bent over him. "It…it hurts," he whispered to her.

A cool hand brushed the side of his face, cradling his head. "I know it does. We'll get you back into bed and you'll feel better in no time, okay?" A thumb began caressing his cheek.

"Okay," he said, his face scrunching up in pain as another wave hit him fully. He grunted, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

He couldn't see it, but he felt her gently turn him and lift his head at the same time, helping him to sit up. The pain did not intensify anymore, thankfully, but it did not lessen. As he sat up, she ducked under his left arm and put her other arm around his back, supporting him as she began to stand one foot at a time. "Good. Just like yesterday, you can do it," she prodded him encouragingly.

Soon enough Alfred pulled himself up, with a lot of help, until he was standing; hunched over, grabbing his stomach, but standing. Step by step he and the woman began to shuffle back to what he now knew was her room. It took several minutes, but they arrived without another incident or stab of pain. She helped Alfred to sit down on the bed, and then swung his legs up onto the bed for him gently as he lay back down, placing his head on the soft pillows. She also covered him up once more with the warm comforter, after having quickly checked his bandages; they were still good, with no bloody leakage. "How are you feeling?" she asked him. "Hold on a moment," she suddenly told him, and leaned forward to kneel on the bed. She brought her hand up to his forehead, leaning her face in close to his.

Alfred felt his face flush, but hoped she hadn't noticed. "What?" he managed to stammer out, closing his eyes as her cool skin melted in his burning skin.

"You're fever is still a bit high," she sighed, removing the cool hand. "Although it has come down considerably since last night."

"Last…night?" Alfred sighed slowly, trying to remember.

The woman sat down on the bed, watching him carefully. "Do you remember what happened at all?"

Alfred thought hard, back to yesterday. Getting off of the plane…his coffee and hamburger…the taxi ride…the couple…and then doubling over in the middle of the sidewalk. "Not much," he lied. "I remember…getting off a plane…a taxi…getting out of the taxi…then…nothing…" he had to pause to take a deep breath, the pain in his abdomen finally starting to abate.

"Oh," she answered, slight disappointment evident in her voice. She sat on the edge of the bed while he lay there catching his breath, an uncomfortable silence beginning to fill the gap between them. "Well," she said after a minute, "I'm glad you're feeling a little better, but it is probably for the best if you don't get up just yet. Wounds like those don't heal overnight," she added.

Alfred blinked, looking out from under his cocooned position to finally take in the woman's appearance. She was wearing dark purple pajama pants and a white tank top, her muscular yet lean arms crossing to rest her hands in her lap. He had seen her mess of extremely dark brown curly hair, and her bright emerald green eyes. Now he also noticed the shadows under those piercing eyes, the dryness of the skin on her hands from washing them too often. "You took care of me," he stated matter-of-factly.

The woman blushed a brilliant crimson across the arches of her cheeks. She turned her head away so he couldn't see. "Well, yes…you were in really bad shape last night, and I just couldn't leave you…"

"What happened?" he asked in a very quiet voice.

"I found you…on my way home from work. I was going to call 911, but you didn't want me to. Anyone would have done it," she added with a shrug.

_Not anyone_, Alfred wanted to say, but knew better than to. "Thank you," he said, trying to emphasize to her just how grateful he was.

The woman turned back towards him, smiling. "You are very welcome…um…"

"Alfred," he quickly supplied.

"Alfred. It's a nice name," she told him sincerely.

"Thanks! What's your name?"

* * *

However, far away on the northeastern coast of the United States of America, an anxious Canada was pacing in his room, Kumajirou watching him from atop the bed. "Where is he?" Matthew murmured quietly to himself, checking his watch yet again, probably for the sixth time in twenty minutes. "His plane should have landed by now."

"Alfred be here soon," the miniature polar bear added to the conversation, trying to cheer his master up.

"I hope you're right," he replied. All he could think of was his conversation with Alfred on Wednesday, before he left for his trip. _I should have stopped him…I shouldn't have let him go…_ Matthew's chest constricted as he was wracked with pangs of guilt. He shuffled over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, leaning over and covering his face with his hands. His retro fighter pilot goggles reflected the light from the window, showing an overcast sky. "Alfred, just come back safe, alright?" he whispered in an agonized voice.

Kumajirou stood up and sidled over to the distraught young man, rubbing his wet black nose comfortingly against his arm.

* * *

"Now don't push yourself," the woman warned him as she added yet another pillow behind Alfred's back.

"Alright," he answered, scooting his way up to rest on the many pillows she had gathered from around her apartment. Once he was sitting up, resting against the padded mountain, he leaned back to relax against it. At least he could take with her properly now. "Thanks."

"No problem," she said, waving him off. "Just don't try getting up again without my help."

"I won't," he promised her, smiling sheepishly.

"Now, can I get you anything?" she asked him, turning around and sitting on the edge of the bed once more. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? Want to watch some television?" She paused to hear his answer.

Alfred was about to answer when he stopped, mouth hanging open.

"What? Are you feeling alright?" the woman quickly said, concern etched across her face.

"Aren't you curious?" he finally answered her, closing his mouth to speak.

"Curious about what?" she replied.

"You find me in an alley. You bring me to your home. You bandage me up and take care of me. And you don't even want to know anything about me? You aren't even going to ask if I want to call someone?"

"Do you want to?" she asked back, cocking an eyebrow.

"No! I mean…no, that's not the point! Aren't you afraid that I'll hurt you, or rob you, or something like that?"

"Well, not with this you won't," she told him with a laugh, poking him gently in the stomach for extra effect. Alfred grunted, a small pain blossoming momentarily just below his ribcage. "Besides Alfred, you aren't the kind of person who would do something like that."

This time it was Alfred's turn to raise an eyebrow. "And how do you know that?"

"You've thanked me for every little thing I've given you," she began, counting off the reasons on her fingers, "have never pried into any of my business, and have tried to make this situation as easy on me as possible without infringing passed what the normal conditions are for injured people." Suddenly she stood up. "Oh, I almost forgot!" she cried out, smacking herself on her forehead.

"What?" Alfred hastily said, concerned, but she had already run out of the room. He could hear some kind of metallic clanging coming from down the hall, and things moving around, but within a few seconds she ran back into the room holding two hangers with his clothes on it. His uniform was clean, all signs of blood gone, as well as having been ironed until each hem was perfect. His three way belt hung upon it as well, while his leather bomber jacket hung on a separate hanger in her other hand.

"I did my best, but at least all the blood is gone," she told him with a satisfied smile. "Your boots and socks are sitting on the washing machine, but they're all cleaned up too. I didn't really know how to treat leather, but it said online that – hey, what's wrong?" she asked him, lowering the clothes in confusion.

Alfred was crying. The proud superpower, the great United States of America, was crying as he lay weakly in the woman's bed. She had found him, taken him home with her, treated his injuries, and even _washed his clothes_. She didn't know who he was, or what he could be, yet she did all of that for him without once having asked for anything in return. The tears came harder and faster; he brought his hands up to cover his shame ridden face, hiccupping. He called himself a hero…trying to be brave in the face of danger and adversity, trying to be the nation that all other nations looked up to, to make the world a better place for his brother and sister Nations, to keep the smiles on his twin to the north and his older brothers across the Atlantic.

Who was he to say he was a hero? She had done all of this for him out of the goodness of her heart without asking for anything in return. He knew he had been selfish in his heroism; he had always wanted the acknowledgement of the other Nations and their countries, to make them look at him, to respect him. In truth he couldn't help anyone…let alone himself.

Immediately he felt a weight settle on the left side of the bed right next to him, and a pair of smooth hands pulled him down into a comforting hug. He stiffened, but she did not let him go until he was resting against her shoulder. She rubbed circles onto his back as he sobbed into her tank top, wetting the material with his salty tears. "Shh, just let it out," she told him in a caring voice. Alfred wrapped his arms around her, crying for all the things he wanted to but could never be.

He felt like a toddling Nation again. When he would go running into Arthur's open arms after having a nightmare, to have them soothed away by the rough but gentle voice of his older brother. Matthew, if he was visiting, would come running in to make sure his brother was okay, usually ending up crying to, and giving Arthur double the trouble on his hands. But Arthur would always promise him that his faerie and sprite friends would protect him, and that everything would always look better in the dawning of a new morning.

But it was after dawn, and the day was still grim.

The woman never left his side once. She continued to sit there, to hold Alfred against her as he cried and cried, sobbing for what had been lost and for what had never been. She whispered loving nothings to him, cradling him like a babe, while Alfred wept into her arms. She didn't know why, but something told her deep inside her heart that he was important; that if she failed that something terrible might happen. But what it was that she might fail at…she had no idea.

* * *

He…couldn't believe it. He stared at the television screen in shock, unable to comprehend what the news anchors were saying.

_"…twelve dead, one in critical condition, and at least thirty other people injured in this horrendous act of violence. At this moment it is unknown if the gunman is dead or alive, considering the range of the shooting across the base. We will continue to update our viewers on this massacre as the day progresses…"_

_"…once again, for our listeners just tuning in, we are repeating our report of yesterday's shootout at the Ft. Hood army base in Texas, where at this time there are reported to be twelve deaths, one person in critical condition and at least thirty other people or more to be injured. More reports have come in regarding the situation with the gunman; at first it was said that he had committed suicide after these attacks, but our most recent update says that he is also in critical condition but alive. Our station will continuously broadcast this story as we receive more updates…"_

"_Mon dieu!_ Arthur, zis is terrible!" France whispered as he watched the television, his eyes glued to the screen.

England sat on one of the chairs in the television lounge, surrounded by dozens of the other Nations as they watched the news unfold on several large television screens placed around the room. He sat forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together in front of his chin as he stared. "I know Francis," he said with tight lips. His dark green eyes flicked over to his right where Canada lay on the sofa, his arms wrapped around his older brother's middle while he buried his face into the Frenchman's chest. Francis stroked Matthew's head, comforting the young Nation. Kumajirou sat on the floor next to him, occasionally lifting his head and watching his master with a sad face.

Less than an hour earlier, Matthew had run out of his room and down the halls like a madman, screaming for Arthur and Francis. Germany and Italy had bumped into him first, but since he was babbling in French, couldn't understand him. They had just left speaking with France and England, so they took the trembling Canada back to them. When Matthew saw his older brothers, he broke down in tears as Francis tried to understand what he was saying.

All he could really make out were "Texas," "shooting," and "Alfred." Even so, those three little words sent the Nations into protect mode. They checked Alfred's room first; not there. Then they checked with the outside security; Alfred hadn't checked in with them since he had left on Wednesday. When Arthur realized this, he practically ran to the communications room with a fire in his eyes, which contained dozens of red phones. Each one had a specific tag on it, which was direct line to the head of each of the countries the Nations represented. Walking passed several rows of long tables he stopped towards the end of the alphabetized phones and grabbed the receiver labeled "United States of America – President Barack Obama, Oval Office, White House."

As he picked it up, a tone sounded on the other end. Almost immediately the voice of the first African American President was heard on the line.

"_Alfred? Is that you? Are you alright?"_ When he heard a strange British voice instead of his hyperactive friend, the President immediately knew something was wrong.

A short while after checking with his FBI and Secret Service, the President gave Arthur the worst news ever: he didn't know where Alfred was. All he knew was that he had taken one of his weekly trips to one of the fifty states. He had called him Thursday morning before he got on his plan, as per usual, but he had never heard from him after that. The President assumed that Alfred was busy, enjoying the sights and eating his hamburgers, and would call once he was on his way back…as per usual. But he hadn't, and no one had seen him; his driver had waited at the local airport to pick him up, but when he didn't get off his plane he tried to find out if he had been on another one. The driver was still checking.

"Bloody hell," Arthur swore, slamming his fists down on the coffee table in front of him. It startled several Nations, but most let him be, knowing how frustrating the situation must be for him.

"I-it's all m-my fault," a hiccupping nation whispered into Francis's shirt. "I-I knew that s-something was w-wrong w-with him. I shouldn't have let him g-go!"

"_Mathieu, non._ Zis is not your fault whatsoever. _Mon petite_ Alfred would have gone still, yes?"

Poor Matthew. He was blaming himself for Alfred's disappearance. He had seen that something was wrong; if he would have stopped him, if he would have kept him here instead of letting him leave for his trip…then maybe…just maybe…

"Ze FBI and ze Secret Service are doing all zey can to find him right now," Germany told Matthew, as he gripped the top of the sofa tightly. "For now all ve can do is vait."

"Thank you Ludwig," Francis told him gratefully as he looked up at the blonde German.

"We'll help too!" an energetic Italy added. "How about some pasta?"

Ludwig placed a hand on the redhead's shoulder, shaking his head at him. "No, but ve _can_ help. Alfred said he vas going to ze Midvest, right Matthew?"

The blonde Canadian nodded, slowly beginning to extract himself from his older brother's now ruined blue uniform. "Yeah. And he promised me that he would be coming back for today's meeting," he added, using his sleeve as a tissue to wipe his running nose and eyes.

Francis quickly pulled out an embroidered handkerchief and handed it to his younger brother, pulling out another for himself to wipe his blouse off with. "_Ma chemise proper_," he moaned dramatically.

"_Frère désolé_," Matthew apologized. "_Je peux le laver pour vous_."

"You gits! Enough French!" Arthur said, grinding his teeth. Matthew jumped and immediately looked down at his feet while Kumajirou suddenly reared in front of him, baring his teeth at the Englishman.

"Kumajirou! No, stop that!" Matthew admonished him in his quiet voice as he pulled the miniature polar bear back away from the startled England.

"Sorry," Arthur immediately said, slouching back onto the chair. Kumajirou settled down, with Matthew scratching his ear, but kept a beady eye on the green uniformed Nation. "Now…the Midwest. Does anyone know much about it?"

"It's the belt of states that lie around the northern half of the Mississippi River," Matthew eagerly offered. "There's about twelve of them, the northernmost two being Minnesota and Michigan and the southernmost being Arkansas and Tennessee, before you get either too far south or too far west."

"That…is a lot of land to cover," Italy said, starting excited but drooping at the end.

"Too much. We have to narrow it down further," Arthur declared.

"How about this then?" a soft spoken country articulated from behind the group.

Arthur turned around to see Japan walking towards them, a piece of paper in his hand. "What is it?" Arthur said, jumping to his feet.

"The plane itinerary for young America has just come from the White House," the Asian nation stated, handing over the paper as the other Nations crowded eagerly around England. "He is in –"

"Wisconsin!" the Nations of the world finished for him.


	4. Assistance

As soon as the news spread throughout the compound that Japan had brought information on America's whereabouts, the Nations were calling their respective countries left and right, most donning jackets and calling their drivers at the same time. So what if the FBI and Secret Service were on the job? They knew they could find their brethren Nation faster than any normal human ever could. They knew he had landed at Mitchell International Airport in Milwaukee, the largest city in the state. However, they had no idea where Alfred had gone from there. He could be anywhere in the southeastern part of the state, or even further by now. So all who were going to assist in the search and rescue mission were flying there on the secondary Air Force One, thanks to the support of President Obama.

Arthur was donning a heavier jacket from his winter uniform set when Matthew knocked on his open door. "Arthur?" he called in his quiet voice.

"Come in!" the Englishman called, shrugging his arm through the sleeve. He shook it out and allowed it to settle over him as he watched his younger brother walk into the room, Kumajirou in his arms. The miniature polar bear still looked at Arthur with somewhat of an angry look on his face, but no more growling. "I apologize for my actions earlier," he said, dipping his head in apology to Matthew. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

"It's okay," he told him, smiling. "I know you're just as worried about Alfred as we are."

England walked over to Canada and placed a hand on his head, ruffling the blonde hair around his goggles. "We'll find him, I promise you Matthew."

Canada tilted his head down, staring into the fluffy white fur on top of Kumajirou's head. "I know we will, but…I have a _really_ bad feeling about this. Something has happened, I know it. Y-you should have seen him, after the m-meeting on Wednesday. It was like he was f-falling apart from the i-inside out," the young Nation spoke softly, tears prickling at his eyes once more.

Arthur quickly enveloped him into his arms, while being wary of Kumajirou between them. "You know Alfred. He is a hero, and will always be a hero. Do you think something like this is going to stop him? Even if he is hurt or injured, I know he is probably trying his best to contact us at this very moment. Right?"

Matthew nodded into Arthur's chest, sniffing.

"Then let's go get the poor bloke. Besides, I'm going to give him a good piece of my mind for walking out of here sick like he was!" Arthur said with a scowl, his bushy eyebrows joining together in the center of his forehead as he gently pushed Matthew away from him.

Matthew giggled, wiping his eyes dry with the back of his sleeve. "I agree," he added, smiling once again.

"Good. Now let's go find that perverted France. We don't want to miss our plane, now do we?"

~:~:~

It was later in the day when Alfred next awoke. He could tell because the sun was no longer shining directly in through the window from over the lake, east from where it arose each day to greet his country. He woke slowly, blinking his eyes as blurry scenes greeted him which had been clear only hours ago. Taking stock, he sleepily realized he was in almost the same position as he had been in when the woman had brought his clothes in…when he had started crying.

Quickly Alfred realized what had happened, and was about to get up and go apologize when he felt something moving in his hair. Fingers were moving around on the top of his head, massaging the blonde locks in slow purposeful movements. It was then he also realized that he was lying down upon something very warm, his head upon something soft and his arms wrapped around something slowly moving up and down. This breathing was accentuated by a soft but strong voice, humming a simple lullaby as she ran her fingers through his hair. She had moved Alfred so that his head was resting on her lap, her legs stretched out down the bed for comfort.

Alfred closed his eyes, lulled by the motion of her fingers and the sound of her voice. He listened for a long while, the only sounds being his heartbeat and her song, until he felt the fingers beginning to gradually slow and pausing more often than not. The humming eventually died off as well, and was replaced with deep intakes of breath that exhaled silently. Being ever so careful, Alfred began to turn his head around, trying to look at the woman. Finally replacing himself in the opposite direction and proud of himself for not having disturbed her, he gazed upon her face.

Her chin rested upon her chest, her back against the mahogany headboard. Her right hand rested in his hair, while her left had been lying on top of one of his arms instead. Her eyes still showed signs of the restless night; the shadows still not having completely disappeared. Alfred assumed she had been awake until those few moments ago when she finally succumbed to her much needed rest. She had stayed with him, stayed awake while he fell into a restful slumber, forgoing her own to take care of him. Alfred smiled before sitting up very slowly in order to prevent any of the cuts from opening up again. He did not get the enormous dizzy spell as he had earlier, and the pain had lessened considerably in his stomach. He carefully grabbed her hands and partially her wrists in order to lay them in her lap, but as he grabbed her left she suddenly hissed in pain, eyes flying open.

Seeing Alfred awake, she squeaked and pulled her hands away from him, scrambling further up the headboard. "Y-you're awake!" she stuttered, an enormous blush creeping its way across her face.

Alfred narrowed his eyes at her. "Your wrist," he told her, a statement more than a question.

She looked down at her right hand, which was currently wrapped around said wrist. "I-it's nothing, really," she told him earnestly.

"Really?" he asked, as his hand shot forward and gripped it firmly around her own hand.

The woman cried out in pain, tears blossoming in her eyes. "Ow! Okay, okay, it hurts! Let go!"

Alfred immediately released her, guilt eating at him for hurting her. "Why didn't you get it looked at?"

"It's only a slight sprain," she told him, averting her eyes and looking towards the door. "It'll heal on its own in a day or two."

"You should wrap it at least," he pointed out to her.

"Y-yeah," she said, slipping her feet over the side of the bed and standing up, only to fall to the floor and clutch her knee with a cry of pain.

It was mere moments before Alfred had launched himself off the bed and was at her side. "What's wrong?" he demanded. "Not just your wrist, but your knee too?!"

"I just tripped yesterday, okay?!" she cried back at him, huddling down closer to the floor. "It was…it was when I…" she started to say as her voice lost its bitter edge, biting on her lip to keep the tears from leaking out of her eyes.

A pair of strong arms encircled her. "Now it's my turn to take care of you," he spoke to her gently as he easily scooped her up bridal style, with one arm across her back and one arm under her knees. She _eeped!_ slightly, grabbing Alfred around his neck to steady herself. He chuckled, standing, as he walked the few feet to set her down delicately on the bed, careful to not do anything unnecessary; she seemed to be a very shy person when it came to bodily contact. Letting her go, he sat down next to her. "Show me?" he asked her with a small smile.

"I-it's my right," she said with a blush, turning away as she scrunched the fabric of her pants up over her leg. As her knee came into view, she winced; it was spotted with black and blue bruises, just like her left wrist was, as well as the large band aid she had used over the cuts from the sidewalk.

"That doesn't look too good," Alfred told her honestly as he laid a hand on her knee, moving it around to see how bad the damage really was.

"I'll be fine," she told him, "really. It's just a little tender yet."

"Where are the supplies you used on me?" he asked her bluntly, standing up.

"What?"

"The bandages," he reiterated as he began to walk towards the door.

"The medicine cabinet, above the sink," she told him, pointing to the bathroom.

"Do you have any mineral ice?" he asked her as well, walking into the tiled room and opening the mirrored cabinet.

"Blue jar, middle shelf."

He opened up the medicine cabinet above her sink and grabbed a larger and smaller roll of ace bandages as well as the navy blue container, closing it back up again. He walked back into the room, the flag of the United States waving at her as he moved. "Let me help," he said in a soft, apologetic voice. "Hold out your hand."

She complied, holding her left wrist just above her legs.

Taking off the small metal pin that held the roll together, he took the edge of the roll and placed it on the junction of bone between her hand and arm. He noticed the darkened bruises like on her leg and shook his head. "You have to take better care of yourself," he murmured as he held the end of the roll in place, wrapped it once around, and then began wrapping the rest of her wrist.

The woman was transfixed as she watched Alfred bandage her up. His hands were rough but gentle, working quickly and efficiently from what looked like years of practice. In moments, he had wrapped her wrist completely, hooking it around the base of her fingers and in between her thumb and forefinger, using the metal pin to clasp the end of the bandage to the rest of it on the back of her hand.

She had to admit her wrist felt better already, the pressure relieving some of the previous pain. She flexed her fingers nimbly; the bandage neither too loose nor too tight.

Alfred chuckled as he let go of her hand, reaching for the other bandage and container of ointment. Starting with the container of blue gel, he opened it and set the lid on the comforter, dipping his fingers into the cold material. Satisfied with the amount, he set the open container down on the bed and rubbed the mineral ice between his hands before gently placing them on her knee.

Her body stiffened. "Cold," she hissed softly in explanation when Alfred gave her a curious look.

"Oh, sorry," he told her, and began massaging the joint. His fingers began with the top of her kneecap while avoiding the bandage, working the gel around it and into the muscle, before dipping behind it to the back of her knee. He massaged it gently, his hands rubbing and caressing the muscles as the throbbing ache was slowly relieved.

The woman slowly calmed down, almost mesmerized by his actions. Normally she was wary to let anyone touch her, other than friends or family, but she could feel the built up soreness and aching slowly recede as his fingers did their magic. She even felt herself calming down, taking deeper and deeper breaths until all she could see was the top of Alfred's head as he bent over his work, and his hands and fingers moving back and forth over her skin.

He smiled. Her breathing was slower, deeper. Her hands sat limply in her lap as she watched him take away the pain. Even when Alfred got up to use her bathroom to wash off the blue mineral ice, dry his hands, and come back to put the ace bandage on, she barely moved – only watching him through half lidded eyes. He sat back down and grabbed the last ace bandage, unwinding it before wrapping the wrenched joint as he had done with her wrist.

"There, all done. Feeling better now?" Alfred said quietly as he bent down and kissed the top of her knee, then took her hand in his and brought it up to his lips, kissing the back of it gently while looking up at her. His blue eyes stared unabashedly into her green ones, almost looking through her and seeing her innermost thoughts.

The woman was wide awake now and could practically feel steam coming out of her ears by this point, she was blushing so hard. "Y-yes," she managed to stumble out in a shrill voice.

Alfred laughed at her reaction. "Sorry. My older brother always used to do that when I was little."

"You're feeling better," she snorted in an effort to hide her smile. "But…thank you, Alfred."

"You're welcome," he said with a grin. Suddenly he shivered, bringing his hands up to rub up and down his arms.

"You're cold! Wait one second," the woman told him, throwing one leg after the other over the side of the bed. She stood carefully, not putting too much pressure on her right leg. Brushing passed him she headed for her closet, opened it, and dug around inside for a moment. Alfred came up from behind her, wondering what she was up to. "Here," she suddenly said, turning around and holding out a large sweatshirt. "Put this on so you don't catch a cold."

"Thanks," he told her, grasping the gray material. He held it up to see that is was indeed a man's sweatshirt, with large purple letters that read UWW on the front. He donned it quickly over his head and pulled it down over his midsection, finding that it fit quite well. "It fits," he said to her, "thanks."

"My little brother left it here the last time he visited," she explained. "I wasn't sure if it would fit you or not, but it's better than walking around half nak – um…are you hungry?" she quickly asked, changing the subject as she turned around to close her closet doors. "…I should go make something. I could always run down to the –" she rambled, until Alfred stopped her mid-sentence.

"You never think of yourself, do you?" he murmured, watching her as she paused in the middle of the doorway. "Not once yesterday or today have you thought about yourself, only what I need, to the point of running yourself ragged. Why?"

The woman closed her mouth, her curiosity and her caring nature getting the better of her again. She spoke her next words facing away from him, but with a sharp tone. "It's...it's because you're _you_. You are…different than anyone I've ever known. Do you know that you smell like twenty different things and places at the same time? For that matter, who can smell like a place?! And those scars…those aren't _normal_," she ended her outburst with a whisper, clenching her right hand into a fist at her side. "You've been hurt so much in the past. I know you are special, more special than anyone I've ever known." She turned around and strode purposefully up to him, paused, sucking in a deep breath of air as she stared at his chest. "Alfred, what _are _you?" she whispered as her fingers ran over the sweatshirt, tracing the oldest scar underneath it: _Revolution, _it had said. "It's like the one on your stomach."

The room was unnaturally still for the next few minutes. Alfred's mind was reeling, trying to figure out what to do. It's not like he could openly tell her "Hey, I'm the United States of America all wrapped up into one flesh and blood bundle! Name's America, but you can call me Alfred F. Jones. Nice to meet you!" He couldn't tell her about the Nations either. But how else could he explain himself to her?!

"I…" he began, swallowing nervously as he tried to decide on the best words to phrase his next thought. "I'm the…"

"Wait," she suddenly said as she changed her mind, standing up tall to try and see him face to face, placing a finger over his lips. Alfred's eyes were large as she shook her head. "Don't tell me."

"But –"

"No. If you can't, or aren't supposed to tell me, don't. I don't want to get you into any trouble." Her fingers gently traced over the two hundred thirty year old scar on his chest. "You have others like this," she finally said, breaking her silence. "On your back, your arms, your legs."

Alfred nodded.

"I've seen what they say; some are so faded they're almost invisible now. Some are still fresh and look like they're about to bleed. The one on your back shoulder," she told him matter-of-factly.

He nodded again, figuring he could at least tell her something. "They're called Marks."

"Marks?"

"Emotional pain turned physical," he explained in simple terms, closing his eyes. He could see each one clear as day, from having to tend to them so often in the past...

_1776…_

_Revolution…_

_1812…_

_Civil War…_

_World War I…_

_Great Depression…_

_World War II…_

_JFK…_

_Korea…_

_Vietnam…_

_Civil Rights…_

_Colombine…_

_9/11…_

And now…_Hood._

"Will these Marks ever go away?" she asked him softly, staring into his sky blue eyes.

Alfred shook his head slowly. "They've been around for this long, so…probably not."

"Are…are they painful?"

"Yes, and no. Most of the older ones only get sore when I think about them. Some of the newer ones more often than not lately."

"And then the new one on your stomach."

"Yes. It's already healing though, thankfully. I am really glad that you found me when you did," he told her gratefully; looking passed her and not meeting her gaze.

"Anyone would have done the same," she murmured, looking anywhere but his face as she felt her own heat up magnificently. She felt such a strong connection to him as if she had known him all her life, and feeling so strange, being here next to him. His presence exuded an ancient calm, as if she would never have to worry about anything ever again. Like he was her knight in shining armor come riding on his glorious white stallion to carry her off into the sunset.

~:~:~

The second Air Force One owned by the Federal government of the United States of America shot through the sky at a breakneck pace, making it's way towards the interestingly enough glove-shaped state. Matthew watched the fluffy white clouds sail by his window, as Arthur sat next to him reading his daily copy of The Times. Occasionally he would ruffle one of the sheets as he paged through it, a more subtle noise compared to the quiet chatter of Nations spread out throughout the plane.

Russia had discovered the President's alcohol storage, and was currently sipping away at one of his favorite brands of vodka. France was flirting with the flight attendants as well as the other female staff. Italy was bouncing from window to window, telling Germany everything he could see (which wasn't much) while Germany tried to catch some shuteye. Japan sat still, watching everyone going about their business, while China was hungrily snacking on some fried rice he had brought with him.

Watching the sunny sky through the window, Matthew couldn't help but think about Alfred. Yesterday he had flown through these same skies, heading towards Wisconsin, but for what purpose? Obviously there was a lot to see within his own country, and like the other Nations he enjoyed making sure his people were living good and happy lifestyles, and nudging his leaders in the right direction when he found something that was wrong or could be improved upon. He wish he knew what exactly Alfred had gone to Wisconsin for; if he had a destination in mind, they could at least check there first, but they didn't even know where to start looking.

The Nations were going to split up, one group per county, and start looking around for their friend. No matter how long it took, they would find Alfred and bring him home.

"Can I get you anything sirs?" he heard a polite voice ask. Matthew turned around to see a kind faced government employee smiling down at him.

"Tea, Earl Grey, no cream or sugar, side of lemon," Arthur replied without missing a beat, his eyes still scanning the stock market exchange prices.

"Water, please, and some raw beef?"

The lady quirked an eyebrow at the still bear in his arms. "Raw…sir?"

"Yes, please. Just cut it up and put it on a plate and it will be fine. Thank you!"

"Of course. It will be just a few minutes," she told them with a nod before leaving.

"Didn't you feed him this morning?" Arthur questioned Matthew as he turned yet another page.

"Of course! But long plane rides make him especially hungry, right Kumajirou?" As if on cue, a low rumbling noise was emitted from the small bear's stomach. Matthew and Arthur laughed, the underlying tension slightly relieved. It was silent for a few minutes as they waited for the woman to return with their drinks and raw beef. Matthew finally broke it, asking, "How long do you think it is until we land?"

"Well, it's only a four hour flight, and we've already been up here for two hours already, so probably another two or so. Getting cabin fever already?" He turned another page, squinting at some of the smaller texts.

"Oh, no. Just…anxious, I suppose," he admitted.

Arthur turned away from his paper to look at him. His head was down as he petted Kumajirou, his lone curl not as gravity defying as usual. "I told you before Matthew, we'll find him. Alfred doesn't go down that easily," he added in a softer voice, flashes of red, white, blue coat-tailed uniforms racing across his vision. "He's a strong Nation, just like you."

Matthew blushed a little, hearing this kind of praise from Arthur. Which was quite unusual in itself. Which also meant that without saying it, he was exceedingly worried.

"Here you are sirs. Your Earl Grey tea, your water, and your…raw beef. Please enjoy," the woman from before said, suddenly appearing next to them with a small tray.

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, smiling and thanking her at the same time as he took the cup of tea and leaned back as she handed Matthew his water and Kumajirou his plate of raw beef chunks. _That was too close_, he thought to himself. He didn't know how many people on this plane knew who they were; the pilots did, since Alfred got use of this plane more often than not when the President wasn't using it, as well as two suits that were traveling with them. Beyond that he and the other Nations had agreed to keep their true identities under wraps, only referring to themselves with their human names. However, he kept this concern to himself; Matthew was still feeling guilty enough as it was.

Matthew set the plate down on the floor, placing Kumajirou next to it. He heard him murmur a quiet "thanks" before he started munching happily on the meat. Matthew scratched behind his ear momentarily, before leaning back into his seat and taking a small sip of his water to try and calm his nerves. They still had two hours before they could begin their search.

~:~:~

On the other hand, on the ground in Wisconsin, Alfred was up and walking around the small apartment while his new friend cleaned up a bit and got dressed. Neither of them could really take a proper shower or bath with their minor and major injuries, but they tried their best.

Alfred had never been in a woman's home before; well, other than passing by Hungary's room when she had left it open while she was talking to Belarus. Hungary had frills everywhere, lots of flowers and lace too. This apartment was a bit more sophisticated, in his perception, by the fact that it wasn't overly crowded with unnecessary items. He was currently in her living room slash kitchen; all of the walls were painted a neutral but cheery light brown, with several paintings and photographs hung on open spaces. One looked like a Georgia O'Keefe print, another by Christian Reese Lawson. One large frame held many pictures in it; he could see her with what was probably her family, two tall boys seated next to her and an older man and woman standing behind them as they smiled for the camera. Others were of vacations; he could see a sparkling coast, Mount Rushmore, a mountain hidden by clouds, and a dark cave. Other pictures she had two younger boys on either side of her – one Caucasian but the other interestingly enough African American. Others were of her with two young girls of Asian descent with heavy winter coats on.

_Cousins, maybe?_ he thought to himself. Moving on, he strolled into her living room and admired the nice sofa and chair around a dark wood coffee table. He practically jumped in delight when he saw a large flat screen television and a new Playstation 3 system underneath it. _Ah, a female gamer, alright!_ Turning, he also admired the view out the window of the lakefront, but it was blocked by several tall buildings, so only partial views of it could be seen. It was clear this apartment was neither on the poor nor the rich end of the spectrum, but somewhere in the middle.

Suddenly Alfred noticed in the opposite corner many black and blue cases, some only a few feet long, others almost as tall as he was. Walking over to them, he also noticed some kind of metal contraption, with three feet on the bottom, a long body, and a flat top with an edge that looked like you could put something on it. _A music stand?_ he thought to himself. _Then these must be…_

"Oh, I see you've found my instruments," a voice called from behind him. He turned around sheepishly to see that the woman had cleaned herself up, putting her mass of curls into an easy ponytail and wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that read _Treble Maker_. "I swear, I should keep some of them at school," she sighed as she turned around and walked into the kitchen.

"School?" Alfred questioned her as he trotted over to where she was.

She nodded. "I'm the orchestra teacher at the high school about two miles from here. I'm just glad I decided not to drag any with me last night!" she laughed. "Now, you're probably hungry, right? What did you want to eat?"

"Burgers!" Alfred blurted out, before he turned red and closed his mouth. "Uh, I mean…"

"Burgers for lunch it is then!" the woman said with a laugh. She turned away from him and walked over to her freezer. "I should have some – _creak_ – in her somewhere…" she murmured as she opened up the side-by-side refrigerator and freezer. After a minute of digging, she made a negative sound. "Huh. I guess I don't. You want me to run and get some?"

Alfred bit his lip, his inner burger urge he was trying so desperately to hide, came out in almost a puppy dog look that she could only laugh at. "Okay, okay, burgers it is. Do you have a preference?"

"McDonalds!" Alfred cried out happily. "Thanks!" He was almost jumping in place.

The woman laughed again. "Alright. There's one a couple of blocks from here, just let me grab my coat." She walked passed him and towards her bedroom. "If you want to use the bathroom to freshen up, go ahead. Your uniform is hanging from the bar next to the washing machine and dryer, as well as your jacket. I'll be back in about twenty minutes or so, but help yourself to whatever's in the fridge for now," she called from the back room, her voice getting louder as she walked back into the front room shrugging on her dark brown jacket, her purse slung over her arm. "Hey, you okay?" she asked him as he blinked several times at her.

"You didn't happen to see my glasses at all, did you?" he asked her, noting that his surroundings still were slightly blurry from when he woke up.

She shook her head. "No, but the alley I found you in is close by, so I'll check on my way there. Are you going to be okay without them for a little while longer?"

"I'll be fine," Alfred promised her.

"Alright then. I'll be back shortly."

~:~:~

The second Air Force One jet landed without any problems whatsoever, but startling the technicians in the tower and on the ground. Since the Nations did not want to make a large fuss, they had the pilots' taxi up to one of the private docks instead. Even so, they could not help but draw attention to themselves once they were traversing through the concourse.

In the shape they were in, who wouldn't have stared? Twenty gorgeous and handsome young men and women in pristine uniforms and dresses who seemed to be from all corners of the globe walking and talking together as if they did this every day. Accents flowed into many ears; Italian, French, British, German, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, and even one that seemed almost English but with a slight French undertone.

Francis winked at several young ladies as they enjoyed their midday coffee, tossing out several French phrases at them.

"Francis!" Arthur hissed, poking him in his side.

"Vat?" the blonde Frenchman side, looking hurtfully at the shorter Englishmen.

"We are here to find Alfred, not to flirt!"

"Well maybe you should try it! It might soothe that nasty English temper of yours!"

"Arthur, Francis, please," Matthew begged his older brothers. "Not here!"

"Sorry," the two Nations mumbled together, bowing their heads in shame.

"Now, let's find some transportation," he said, taking the lead. He looked around and found the signs that said Baggage. "That way – down the escalators," he indicated, taking the lead with Kumajirou. The poor bear had been adamant about being left alone on the plane by himself, so Matthew had no choice but to take his friend with him – at least, after cautioning him to pretend he was a stuffed polar bear.

"Good idea, Comrade Matvey," Russia agreed in his light voice. The two of them were the first to step onto the escalators and begin their descent off of the concourse, the rest of the Nations filing into step behind them. France and England just happened to step on it at the same time, squishing themselves together between China, Japan, and Belarus – whom most of them gave a wide berth anyway.

Stepping off, Canada looked around at the baggage claim center, watching as people grabbed their luggage off of the rotating machines to his right. To his left he could see the doors leading to the outside. "This way – we'll each get a taxi to share," he told the rest of them as he began walking towards the rotating doors. As a couple walked in passed them, a blistering, freezing wind accompanied them, forcing the Nations to pull their coats around them tighter.

"Ah! A brisk Siberian wind," Russia grinned as they stepped out into the bright sunshine of a wintery Wisconsin day.

"It's cold," Italy whined, pulling his jacket tighter around him.

"It's not that bad," Germany told him, throwing an arm around his axial friend.

"Where is the taxi service station?" Japan asked quietly, looking around as the Nations processed out of the building.

"Over there!" Matthew pointed out as he began to hurriedly walk down the sidewalk. He had seen the bright yellow sign in the middle of the street, one side being local traffic as people were picked up and the other a stream of waiting taxis. As he hurried towards it, he saw several people had gathered around the small booth, talking as they waited for customers. "Excuse me!" he called.

Several men and women looked up, some with surprised looks on their faces as the contingent of men and women suddenly surround them. "Can we help you?" one woman asked Matthew, closing her mouth and smiling at him.

"We need six taxis please," he told her.

"Y-yes sir!" she said. "Carlos, Marie, John, Bill, Sergey! We've got customers!" Two more men came running, and the two women and one man who were already there waited for instructions. "Carlos, take 516. Marie, 234. John, 489. Bill, 165. Sergey, 664. I'll take 393. Got all that Tom?" she called into the booth.

"All set. Head on out!" a man called as he gave her a thumbs up with the hand that wasn't writing.

_Sergey?_ Russia thought. He walked towards the shorter, stockier man that had nodded at the name, pulling Matthew along with him. "Ve vill go with you, da?" he said.

The man looked surprised. "You are Russian?"

"Да. Меня зовут Иван Брагинский. Ты Сергей?" (Yes I am. My name is Ivan Braginsky. You are Sergey?)

The man grinned at him. "Конечно товарища. Где вы хотите пойти сегодня?" (Of course comrade. Where do you want to go today?)

Matthew could only roll his eyes. Apparently the man was Russian, hence why Russia wanted to ride in his taxi. "Ivan," he prodded him softly, pulling on his sleeve. Arthur and Francis had come walking up behind them, after having shared last minute directions and advice with each of their brethren Nations before they had watched the rest of them climb into the other five taxis. Arthur raised an eyebrow at Matthew as he listened to Russia speak, waiting for him to finish.

"Мы ищем друг наш. Возможно вы видели ему? Высоту, белокурыми волос, ношение коричневый кожаные пальто с звездой на передней панели и число 50 на задней панели?" (We are looking for a friend of ours. Perhaps you have seen him? Tall, blonde hair, wearing a brown leather coat with a star on the front and the number 50 on the back?)

The man's eyes widened. He was so surprised, he switched back to English. "Da! The generous coffee drinker!"

The three non-Russian speaking Nations spun around as they heard his cry of surprise. "You know Alfred?" Matthew said hopefully, stepping closer to the man.

"Al…fred? Tall man, brown uniform, leather coat, wavy blonde hair?" the man reiterated with a small frown.

"Yes!" France, England, and Canada shouted at once.

"Downtown. Intersection of Water and State streets. I will take you right now." The man quickly turned around and opened the door of the taxi, allowing the three overjoyed Nations to quickly file in. Russia walked around the taxi and got in on the passenger side so he could speak to Sergey more, and maybe figure out where America had gone.

~:~:~

"Brr, it's _freezing_ out here," the woman complained, fighting against a cold wind as she walked down the street. She was only a few blocks away from her apartment, taking the same trip she had made last night but while trying to support Alfred. The wind had picked up since then, but the bright sunshine was helping to alleviate some of the bitter cold.

She looked around as she walked trying to regain her bearings. She remembered that the alley was five blocks away from her home, and was in between the two rows of restaurants and shops along the riverfront. One sign, she remembered seeing, was for her favorite Thai restaurant – it had been just after she had began dragging Alfred home with her.

Pulling up the collar on her jacket, she shivered before shoving her hands in her pockets. She could see the sign for Curry on the Corner one block in front of her, and thankfully there wasn't anyone else on the street today. There was the normal everyday traffic, of course, but most of it was cars and trucks rather than pedestrians. She saw several people several blocks up in front of her, and several that would pass her in a minute on the opposite side of the street, but other than that she was alone. Perfect; she could scrounge around in the alley without arousing any suspicion.

As she drew closer to the alleyway, she knew this was the place. Stepping in front of the alley, she saw the small spots of blood that had alerted her to Alfred's presence. _This is the place_, she nodded to herself. Looking around in all directions, but trying to be discreet, she ducked into the alleyway and began walking passed the enormous green garbage bins. "One, two, three, four," she counted until she saw the dried pool of blood she had found Alfred lying in the night before. He throat constricted at the sight, a painful reminder of his egregious wounds.

_Not now_, she thought to herself. She had to find Alfred's glasses. Bending down, she looked all over the ground nearest to her. _No dice_. Standing she moved passed the dried blood and vomit pools. Sweeping her gaze around, a shimmer caught her attention from a few feet from where Alfred had been lying. Kneeling down, she saw glass shards glimmering in the little bit of sunshine that penetrated the alleyway from high above the buildings. In the center of the shards was a pair of rectangular framed glasses. Picking it up, she was disappointed to see that the glass had all but broken out of them, so Alfred was going to need them repaired.

However, at the sound of several pairs of heavy footsteps, she froze.

"Hey! What are you doing over there!" a male voice called, angry.

She slowly stood up, gripping the frames in her right hand, while her left carefully dug into her purse to retrieve her mace. Her heart began to race, adrenaline coursing through her system.

"I believe he was asking you a question, my dear," a smooth voice spoke, joining the first.

"She might know something – let's ask her!" a third but softer voice chimed in.

"We only want you to answer some questions," a heavily accented voice added.

Not wanting to find out the intentions of these _gentlemen_, she stood up to her full height…before taking off at a frantic run down the alleyway.

"Well, let's – hey, wait! We only want to talk with you!" the first voice called as four pairs of footsteps began to chase her.

"No! Leave me alone!" she screamed as she pushed her legs to their limit. However, her right knee was still not quite healed, so as a shot of searing pain shot up her leg it stopped her mid-step, tumbling to the ground. Several male voices shouted at seeing her fall. She bit her lip, crying at the pain. Just she was just about to rise to her feet a hand was placed on her shoulder. "L-leave me alone! I've got mace!" she screamed, crossing her arms in front of her, mace in one and Alfred's glasses in the other.

"Bloody hell!" the voice said, retracting his hand. "Those are Alfred's!"

The woman froze, confused. Slowly she lowered her arms to see four young men kneeling around her, giving her surprised but concerned stares.

"You…you know Alfred?"


	5. Trust

Alfred had just finished carefully donning his pants, his socks already on, and was beginning to button up his shirt as he sat on the sofa. His uniform jacket and his bomber jacket were lying next to him, his shoes on the floor, when he heard the front door to the apartment open.

"Alfred?" the woman's voice called as she opened the door slowly.

Something about the tone in her voice made him pause momentarily, before quickly resuming his buttoning. "What's up?" he called from the sofa, not bothering to look up.

Arthur, Matthew, Francis, and Ivan stood there in the doorway, staring at their brother and friend that they had assumed the worst for. Matthew felt tears prick at his eyes, but carefully set down Kumajirou before shouting and scaring everyone. "AL!" he screamed out as he sprinted towards the blonde on the sofa.

Alfred looked up immediately, his eyes widening as he saw the Nation of Canada barreling down on top of him. Matthew bowled him over landing him flat on his back on the leather sofa, hugging him tightly, before he sat on top of him and started pounding on his chest. "You insensitive jerk! Damn you! You…you stupid, idiotic, moronic, son of a…piece of…!" but he couldn't finish. He continued to pound his fists on top of Alfred, crying in relief, until he heard the other man trying to speak through his rant.

"Mattie. Matt. _Matthew, _I can't_ breathe,_" he managed to wheeze out with a pained expression.

"Oh! S-sorry Alfred," he said to his brother, jumping off of him and helping sit up. He sat down next to him, sniffing.

However, the first most passionate person in the room suddenly took over for the second most passionate person. "Alfred! You are alright!" Francis cried, kneeling in front of his brother. "How are you feeling? You look alright…are you in much pain?"

"Y-yeah, I'm alright now Francis," Alfred told him with a small smile.

"America is tough, da?" Ivan said, standing behind Francis. "But there be one tougher than Alfred, da?" he said, turning around. "Arthur?"

Alfred looked up to see his green eyed guardian staring at the floor, his shoulders shaking silently. "Arthur?" Alfred whispered.

Ivan sighed, the walked around the Englishman and pushed him forward with a surprised yelp before dumping him on the sofa next to Alfred. "Now, better, da?" he said in a cheery voice.

Alfred turned from Matthew and Francis, his gaze falling upon his (for once) silent brother. "Arthur?" he started again, quietly. "Hey, Arthur…" he said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Arthur started momentarily, but sucked in a large breath of air as he suddenly threw his arms around the oldest twin. "You stupid bloody git," he choked out, "do you know how worried we've all been?"

Alfred leaned into his brother's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he told them all in a soft voice. "I didn't mean –"

"No one ever means for these things to happen. What you _should_ be apologizing for is for not telling anyone sooner," Arthur reprimanded him. "Do you know how worried Matthew has been, ever since he let you leave on Wednesday? He didn't want to stop you, and probably couldn't have, but you should have at least given someone more specific directions on where you were going."

Matthew leaned in and hugged Alfred from around his back, squishing him comfortably between himself and England. "I'm just glad you're safe," he whispered to him, smiling.

"Me too," Francis added. "Group hug!" he cried, jumping on the three of them.

"No, you bloody pervert!" Arthur shouted, but too late as the Frenchman pounced.

"I love group hugs!" Ivan added with a grin, and managed to sweep up all four of them in one of his famous yet enormous bear hugs. "Ah, we all feel better now, I believe." Gently he placed all of them back on their feet without hitting any of the furniture.

"Now," Arthur said, wiping his eyes and his tone becoming serious, "what happened? Where are you injured?"

"…my stomach," he told them. "But it's all wrapped up with bandages and medicine, so it's healing really well!" he added with a grin.

"You did that?" Arthur snorted. "I find that hard to believe."

"No, she…oh, yeah…"

Suddenly the five men in the room turned around simultaneously to see the young woman still standing in the small foyer, her coat still on and trying to look inconspicuous.

Smiling Alfred brushed aside his brothers and walked towards the woman. "She found me last night and brought me back here, cleaned me up, and even washed all my clothes for me!" he said proudly, walking around to stand behind her and then pushed her forward gently. "These are my three brothers, and a friend of mine," he explained to her.

Matthew was the first to step forward. "This is my twin brother Matthew."

"Nice to meet you," the quiet Canadian told her, putting his hand out and smiling at her gratefully. "Thank you for helping Alfred out."

"N-no problem," she stuttered, shaking the handsome blonde's hand.

"And these are my two older brothers, Arthur and Francis."

"Again, thank you," Arthur said, putting up both his hands to shake hers heartily.

"Ah, it is now not ze damsel in distress, but ze damsel coming to the rescue!" Francis intoned as he bowed down on one knee, grabbing her hands from Arthur and placing a gentle kiss on the knuckles of each.

Arthur sputtered at this act while the woman could only blush, her cheeks turning a bright red. "I-it was n-no problem," she managed to say in a slightly even voice.

"Come, come. Do not be so modest!" Ivan added, clapping her on the shoulder. "It must have taken great strength to get Alfred all the way from that alley to your home here."

"Not really," she admitted. "He wasn't all that heavy."

At this comment Francis stood up and gave a strange look to Arthur, who was frowning slightly. _She supported a Nation all on her own?_ he thought to himself.

"Ivan, be nice!" Alfred complained to the large Russian. "She put herself out just to make sure that I was okay." He turned and gave her a soft smile. "Thanks again, by the way," he said, enveloping her into a gentle hug.

The woman visibly calmed as Alfred hugged her. "No problem at all. I guess I just happened to be in the right place at the right time."

She and Alfred laughed, and Matthew began asking her lots of questions as they separated. This left time for the three much older Nations to give each other subtle but pointed looks as they took several steps backwards away from the chattering trio.

"Arthur," France said in a low undertone.

"I know," he sighed quietly.

"Perhaps a hit and run is in order?" Ivan murmured. "We could lock her –"

"No!" both of them hissed.

"Aw, he's so soft!" a female voice cooed from the opposite side of the room. The three swiftly turned, noting guiltily but thankfully that the younger three hadn't heard their conversation. Kumajirou was currently nestled happily in the woman's arms as she stroked the top of his head, admiring his bright white fur. Matthew and Alfred stood on either side of her, talking animatedly about random things young Nations tend to do: hockey and video games.

"No," Arthur said, a bit more calmly. "No, I believe just a short talking to is in order. She seems like a reasonable girl."

"We will be breaking her heart," Francis assented with a sigh.

"It is never easy," Ivan also agreed, "but we will be saving Alfred the misery we have all experienced, da?"

England looked to France on his left, Russia on his right. "Ivan, take Alfred and Matthew downstairs. The taxis should be pulling up any moment now as it is. Francis and I will…_handle_ this." He reached discreetly down into his jacket pocket and pressed the autodial button.

Suddenly Korobeiniki began to play out loudly within the room, startling only three of its inhabitants. Russia pretended to look mildly surprised, and dug within his deep coat pocket to pull out a simple black cell phone. Flipping it open, he barely looked at the number as he answered it. "Hallo?" he answered in his thick accent. "Oh, Ludwig! Ve have vonderful news! Yes, yes, ve've found him – thanks to Russian taxi driver." He paused. "Almost here? That is fine, da. We will meet you downstairs. Da…da…goodbye comrade." Ivan clicked his phone shut. "Vonderful news! Ludwig and the others are almost here – they will be pulling up with the others in just a moment."

"Really?" Alfred said, surprised.

"We all came to look for you," Matthew told him smiling. "Ludwig, Feliciano, Kiku, Wang Yao, and at least a dozen more."

Alfred felt his face grow hot with shame. Here he had been sitting in the lap of luxury – albeit injured, but still able to dial a phone – while his fellow Nations had been out searching _on foot_ for him this entire time. "I…I didn't realize," he said softly.

"You're friends must all really care about you," the woman told him, cradling Kumajirou with one arm as she placed the other on Alfred's shoulder.

"But we've just arrived!" Francis moaned dramatically. "And I have not even seen zis beautiful lady's entire _accueil_. I must say, zough, you have exquisite taste in paintings," he added as he stood before the Georgia O'Keefe that was centered above her sofa.

Kumajirou was finally starting to wriggle uncomfortably, missing the strong familiarity of his owner's arms. "Come here boy," Matthew said, holding out his arms as the woman allowed the small furry creature to crawl away from her and happily into his master's waiting arms. "Happy now?" he laughed as the polar bear growled happily as he snuggled into Matthew's arms.

The woman walked over to where Francis was standing. "You have a good eye. It's one of my favorites – I was just happy to find such a large print of it on sale a few months ago."

"It seems to be one of her later works, those with skulls. Am I correct?" he added, taking a sidelong glance at her.

"Yes! She uses such vibrant colors and –" the woman continued. Arthur had to give it to Francis; his flirtatious nature often came in handy in times such as this.

Turning around, he gave a nod to Ivan. "Well, perhaps some of us should go down and meet the taxis. To be sure that they aren't going to the wrong building," he added quickly.

Luckily, Matthew seemed keen on the plan without ever having known about it. "Alfred! You should come down to greet everyone! They'll be so happy to see you!"

As if he needed any prodding. "You're right. Let me grab my jackets," he said as he finished buttoning the last two holes on his white shirt and quickly tucked it into his pants. Quickly walking over towards the sofa, he reached down next to where the woman was standing as she and Francis discussed the contrast between the stark white skull and the vibrant magnolia in the background. Alfred paused their conversation as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "You will come out and meet everyone, right?" he asked her, eyes hopeful. "I want everyone to meet the wonderful person who saved me."

The woman looked down, smiling and blushing at the same time. "Only if you're sure. I mean, I'm a complete stranger, and –"

"What was it you said? 'Anyone would have done it'?" he said as he raised an eyebrow.

Dead on. "Y-yeah…so?"

"Well, you aren't just _anyone_ anymore. You're my friend, and all my friends know each other. So you're coming down with us," he said, grinning at her as he poked her arm repeatedly.

"Okay," she said, smiling up at him. "I will."

"Yes, yes, we are all friends now!" Francis pouted as he grabbed her arm. "But I want to know more about this underwater painting you have over here," he said, pulling her away from Alfred. "It doesn't really match the O'Keefe, don't you think?" _Too close!_

"Of course it does!" the woman said, mouth agape. "The shadows within and around the skull, as well as the use of the green in the stem of the magnolia and the blue highlights around the petals completely match the blue-green of sea life!"

Alfred laughed as he grabbed his brown uniform jacket, shrugging it on over his shoulders and buttoning up the brass. As he finished he quickly grabbed his bomber jacket, threw it on, and slipped his feet into his boots, finally beginning to feel a little bit more normal again. "Let's go greet everyone, okay Matthew?" he said to his twin with a smile.

"I will go with you as well. Nice to meet you," he told the woman, giving a small bow in her direction. Francis was keeping her well occupied with a discussion between the two prints, so she barely noticed.

"I'll drag the flirt down with me when he's done," Arthur sighed, shaking his head. "Hopefully we won't be long."

"Alright," Alfred said to him as the three of them walked out of the door. Ivan was the last to leave, but before he did he paused, staring at Arthur before frowning and giving a curt nod. He closed the door slowly and softly behind him with nary a click to be heard.

Turning around, he spoke in a low tone. "Francis."

The Frenchman suddenly stopped speaking to the woman about paintings. "What do you want from him?" he asked her in a low voice, with an underlying ferocity.

The woman jumped, surprised at his sudden change in tone. "Excuse me?" she asked in surprise, turning to face him.

He took one step closer to her, staring down as he forced her to retreat towards the back wall. "What do you want from Alfred? No one does anything like this and doesn't want anything in return," he said in a menacing tone.

The woman visibly blanched. "I don't know what you're talking about! I was just walking home when I –"

"_Taire!_" he shouted at her, slamming his fist against the wall. The woman shut her eyes and shrieked in fear.

"You," Arthur started as he walked up to them, "would have us believe that you just happened to find him, bandage him up, and become the best of friends in less than one day without wanting _anything_ in return? As Francis stated, we find that quite hard to believe." He stood on Francis' side looking at her from over his arm. "Everyone has ulterior motives."

"But I don't," she whispered pathetically, cringing away from the two men, tears forming in her eyes.

"Ha. Even if we were to believe that –"

"Which we don't," Francis interrupted.

"– do you really think that Alfred is _that_ interested in you?"

The woman looked up at them, tears beginning to leak from her eyes. "W-well, he's sweet and nice; he even bandaged up my hand and knee before…"

"That was him feeling sorry for you, my dear, not _affection_. Who would waste their time on an ugly thing such as yourself? Unkempt hair, outdated clothes, and a poor sense of style to top it all," Francis told her with a pitying sigh.

A hand shakily grabbed several dark curls while choking back sobs. "I'm not ugly," she whispered, more to herself than to them.

"Whatever you think, Alfred has no romantic interest in you whatsoever. So stop chasing such foolish fantasies and get a real life," Arthur told her, kneeling down. He deftly grabbed her chin, yanking her face forward until they were almost nose-to-nose. Her cheeks were stained with tears, her usually bright emerald green eyes dulled by their words. "So if you know what's good for you, you will _stay…away…from…Alfred._ Got it?" he finished pointedly and in his dangerous voice – one he had not used since his pirate days.

The woman nodded, swallowing loudly. She felt so small, under the scrutiny of such profound gazes.

"Good." Arthur dropped his hand, the woman dropping listlessly to the floor. He stood and brushed off his coat, as if ridding himself of her very presence, before turning and walking towards the door. Francis immediately followed after him. Upon reaching the door Arthur opened it and walked out without ever once looking back. Francis, on the other hand, could not help but see the woman still sitting on the floor where they had left her as he closed the door quietly behind them.

She did not give them the satisfaction of making any more noise. Sniffing, she shakily got to her feet, having to hold onto the wall for support. Still limping a bit she walked over and collapsed onto her sofa, falling onto the still warm cushions, staring out into her apartment as the tears ran as flooded rivers down her face.

~:~:~

Matthew and Alfred had no idea as they stood on the sidewalk outside of the small apartment building of what had just transpired eight floors above them. At that moment they could see a line of several taxis heading down the street towards them. Since it was a one-way road, they were having to park on the opposite side of the street and walk down to the end of the block where the traffic lights were in order to cross. Even so, most Nations broke America's laws and jaywalked – no, jay_ran_ – across the busy street when they saw the blonde safe and waving at them.

"Alfred-san!" Japan called quickly walking up to him.

However, one Nation had been faster than him. "Alfred-aru!" China shouted, jumping the much younger Nation. "Where have you been? Are you all right? Are you injured?" he interrupted himself, noting the wince of pain as he gripped his friend.

"Just a little yet," he admitted, sighing in relief when the Asian Nation released him.

The Nations of the world gathered around Alfred on the sidewalk, causing several passersby on foot and in cars to stare at the vast ethnic and cultural diversity present in less than one hundred square feet. Italy couldn't contain his excitement, jumping between America and Germany, although most of the other Nations kept a decent amount of composure as they tried getting the entire story out of Alfred. He laughed, trying to give them the shortened version of his trip without forgetting any details.

"And that's about what happened," he finished a few minutes later.

"She seems to be a very nice person," Japan said to his friend, patting him on the shoulder. "Will we be able to meet her?"

"Actually," Alfred said, looking around, "I thought she was coming down – speaking of which…" he said, seeing Arthur and Francis exiting from the building, the doors _whooshing_ open and then closed again behind them. "Where is she?" he asked them, confused.

"Oh, your friend? She said she had to grab some things, but would be out soon," Arthur told him with a smile.

"Oh," Alfred said, his smile faltering slightly.

"Oh, it is freezing out here!" Francis said in his over dramatic tone, shivering. "Can we not wait in the taxis instead?"

"We should probably get back and contact your boss right away as well," Arthur said in a quiet tone to Alfred. "He was worried about you when I called him."

"But we got to fly in Air Force One!" Italy said, suddenly zooming around and imagining himself like the enormous plane.

"Really?" Alfred said, incredulous. "I didn't think anyone besides him or I got to use it."

"He gave us special privilege in order that we could leave right away," Matthew told him softly.

"Aw, I knew the B. man was a softie," he said, laughing. "Alright. You guys go ahead; I'll wait here for her."

The other Nations complied and began to walk back down the street to where the traffic light waited; all save for England, who decided to wait with him. "You know, you shouldn't be waiting out here in the cold like this with a fresh wound like that," he said after a few moments in a concerned voice.

"Oh Iggy, don't be like that," Alfred whined good-naturedly.

"Don't call me that!" he hissed. He _hated_ that nickname. "Still, you we should get you out of the cold. She said she would be out soon," he reminded him.

Alfred frowned slightly. "Yeah, but –"

"Come on. Are you going to waste all that time spent healing just to get sick again?" Arthur gently grabbed the upper part of his arm and began pulling him towards the traffic light. Alfred allowed himself to be led, if nothing else but to get Arthur off of his back.

~:~:~

The woman lay weeping on her sofa, wondering why she was being punished for only helping someone. Sure, he happened to be sweet and handsome as all get out, but that was only a bonus…right? _Anyone would have done it…_ the words echoed in her mind.

Closing her eyes, her head ached from the painful throbbing of her heart. She liked Alfred. What was so wrong about that? Even if they were overprotective over him, who were they to decide who or what Alfred likes or dislikes?

Opening her eyes, her gaze landed upon two black lumps sitting on her coffee table. Sitting up slowly she realized they were gloves. _Alfred's gloves._ Picking them up she held them up to her nose and inhaled deeply; it smelt of leather, burgers, and freedom. She didn't know how, she just _knew_. It was decision time: would she allow them to intimidate her and push her away, or would she take matters into her own hands? Would she go and tell Alfred how she _really_ felt about him?

The door barely had a chance to click shut behind her.

~:~:~

Arthur and Alfred walked down the sidewalk towards the traffic light, watching as the rest of the Nations were finally filing across the street ahead of them. Occasionally Alfred would turn around and look for his friend, but she had not come out of the building yet. "I wonder what's taking her?"

"Oh, you know women, always having to make themselves look pretty and such," Arthur sighed. "She is probably putting on some makeup and changing her clothes or something at the moment."

"Huh. She didn't seem to place that much emphasis on how she looked," Alfred noted, which caused Arthur to give him a sidelong glance.

"Really," he said, not sounding as if he believed him.

America shook his head. "She also doesn't seem like a girly-girl either. You saw the way her apartment was." They had reached the corner of the traffic light. Arthur pressed the button and began waiting patiently for the crosswalk sign to tell them when to cross. Alfred turned around suddenly. "I'm going to go get her."

_What?_ "Alfred, don't be silly. She told you she was coming, wasn't she? Let's just go and wait for her in those nice warm taxis."

The light from the opposite direction turned green, and the all clear was given for them to cross the street. Arthur gently pulled on his arm. "Come on, let's hurry while we still have a chance."

Alfred allowed himself to be pulled along for a moment before he practically pulled Arthur's arm off as he tossed off the man's grip. "What did you do?" he said in a low voice, angry.

"What do you mean, what did I do?" Arthur sighed.

"I know her. She would have come down with you and Francis, but she didn't. Why not?"

Arthur's eyes hardened. "It's for your own good Alfred," he told him coldly. "Just trust us."

"Trust you?! I trusted you to keep the best interests of my people in mind, and we had to declare independence! Arthur, you may be my brother, but I make my own decisions now! Stop treating me like a child!" he shouted.

"Now you listen here!" Arthur roared at him, neither of them noticing the countdown until the lights changing back only twenty seconds away. "You are going to come with us and that is final! Alfred, think of who you are…you have greater responsibilities to tend to than _flirting_ with that woman." He stepped forward and grabbed his arm, tighter than before, and proceeded to drag him along with him across the intersection.

"No!" Alfred roared back at him, and with the strength of the entire United States of America behind him pulled free of England's grasp.

"Fine! Have it your way, you spoiled brat," he hissed at him, turning and stomping off towards the other corner. He sidestepped a large patch of thin ice. "Come back when you've come to your senses."

~:~:~

She ran out of the automated glass doors as fast as possible, clutching the gloves tightly to her chest. She looked around quickly; she saw the taxis on the opposite side of the street, a large group of people milling around them. _Obvious, since it's a one way – that means they used the…_ Looking down the street she saw Alfred being led by Arthur as they just stepped out into the crosswalk.

_I can still make it!_ she thought happily to herself. She would have to hurry if she was going to make the light though. Sprinting and trying to ignore the pain in her knee, she flew down the street as her dark brown coat flapped like a cape around her.

~:~:~

Matthew was waiting with Ivan next to the taxis when he saw Francis walk up. "Where are Arthur and Alfred?"

"Vaiting for his voman friend," he said with a tight smile.

Matthew frowned, turning towards the building. He saw Alfred and Arthur finally leaving the front of the building and walking down the street towards the traffic lights, where they all had crossed only a minute or two before. _But where's that nice woman?_ he thought to himself. _She must still be coming_. However, as he watched and waited the woman did not appear for another minute or so – and even then he thought it odd that she started racing down the street.

"What's she doing?" he asked out loud.

Ivan and Francis looked to where Matthew was gazing. They looked at each other. _Uh-oh._

~:~:~

Just as she was only fifty feet away or so, she heard Alfred and Arthur shouting at each other.

"No!" Alfred had shouted at him.

"Fine! Have it your way, spoiled brat. Come back when you've come to your senses." Arthur turned and walked towards the other side of the street.

What neither of them noticed, however, was the shiny black car speeding towards the intersection.

She did.

She also noticed, unlike the driver of the black car, the enormous patch of ice that surrounded the intersection due to the water main bursting the week before.

Her eyes widened in absolute terror. _He's going to hit Alfred._ She didn't know how; like with the smell of Alfred's gloves…she just _knew_.

Forgoing the burning sensation in her knee, she focused on just running…running fast, running hard, running to save him.

Thirty…

~:~:~

He…couldn't believe his eyes. Matthew stood there, motionless, as he could only watch in horror. Arthur had left Alfred standing in the middle of the sidewalk, but neither of them had noticed the car coming straight at him. He had noticed that there was a thin layer of ice all around the street when they had crossed just a few minutes ago…and he knew that car was going to be unable to stop.

A secondary horror was caught in his peripheral vision as he saw the woman flying down the street towards Alfred. _She knew. She knew about the ice, saw the car, and was going to try and save Alfred._ All Matthew knew was that either his brother or their new friend was going to be seriously hurt.

So he did the only thing he could at the moment to get everyone's attention.

"ALFRED!" he screamed, as he dropped Kumajirou and started racing back the way he had come. Kumajirou lumbered quickly after him, not as fast of course but just as determined.

~:~:~

Twenty…

~:~:~

Arthur heard Matthew scream Alfred's name just as he started to hear the squealing of tires behind him. Rapidly flipping himself around, he saw the terrified look in Alfred's eyes as at the same time he saw the car come flying at him through the intersection, its wheels unable to grip the slick surface.

"Alfred!" he cried, reaching out towards his little brother.

~:~:~

Ten…

~:~:~

He had turned in order to go back to her apartment building, but his vision had instead caught that of the black monster squealing its tires as it tried to stop in the intersection. Obviously unable to, due to the layer of ice over the concrete, the tires spun out and the car slid through the red light.

Alfred watched helplessly as the car came ever closer to hitting him. Although his face looked terrified his mind was strangely calm. _It will hurt, but I'll survive. Nations can't die from mortal wounds._

~:~:~

"LOOK OUT!"

_Screech – crash!_

_..._

_...Thud._

~:~:~

"HOPE!"

_Hope had sacrificed herself to save the United States of America._


	6. Wards

The blaring lights and piercing siren calls parted traffic, two ambulances racing down the crowded street as if pursued by the devil himself. Following them strangely enough was a caravan of bright yellow taxicabs, now waving international flags on the trunks of the cars as they sped right along with the ambulances.

Turning the corner, the medic currently driving raised the hospital on his radio. "This is Squad 7 en route with Squad 9, bringing in three live ones. Saving Grace, please respond."

A moment of static met his ears before another man's voice answered him. "We read you loud and clear Squad 7. This is Saving Grace Medical Hospital, Emergency Room, Dr. Roberts speaking. I've heard through the initial call what happened, but can you update me on your status?"

"Three currently live victims. One is male, mid-twenties, with a slashed up abdomen; it looks like it had been bandaged, but it came open again and is bleeding profusely. He's currently receiving a blood transfusion from his older brother. The other is also male, mid-twenties – the first victim's older brother. Both have severe bruising and abrasions, but are in no immediate danger. They are riding with us."

"And the other?"

"Female, mid-twenties. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news…but you've got a long day ahead of you doc."

~:~:~

Behind the driver the secondary technician was currently removing a needle from Arthur's arm. "There. Feel dizzy at all?" he asked as he pressed a piece of gauze with iodine over the minute cut in the skin.

The dirty blonde shook his head, rather instead looking over to where his brother lay deathly still on the stretcher opposite him. His chest rose evenly up and down, his breathing deep. "No, I'm fine," he answered him quietly. "How's Alfred?"

The technician turned on his little stool to his other patient. He checked his vital signs quickly, nodding to himself. "His blood pressure has already been stabilized, and his heartbeat is as strong as ever," he told him, patting him on the arm. "He's a strong guy; after a little bit of rest he'll be just fine." The man reached over him and grabbed a large band aid and placed it over the gauze on Arthur's arm. "Now, as for you, as soon as we get to the hospital and get you checked out, you should go and eat something. You'll have plenty of time before your younger brother wakes up."

Arthur cringed at the recent memory. _Poor Alfred_… he thought to himself. "Excuse me, but…"

"Yes?" the man asked, looking down into his face.

"About the woman…the one in the other ambulance?"

The man's face darkened. "They'll do all they can," he promised, his face set in a grimace. Turning to Alfred, he added softly, "But you should be prepared for the worst, just in case."

~:~:~

"Incoming!" a nurse in a blue scrub set yelled from behind the counter, startling everyone into action in the direct vicinity. "Three live ones! Two stable males, one critical female! Dr. Roberts, you're on!" she called behind her, grabbing yet another chart from the never-ending slot system in front of her.

"Coming!" an older gentleman with graying hair called, shuffling forward in his white lab coat. "What's our time on them?"

"About one minute. We should be hearing the sirens any moment now. I've cleared Trauma 1 and 2 for the stables and Trauma 5 for the critical. X-ray and CT are on standby, and there is an OR open and ready for you just in case."

"Thanks Sally," he told her gratefully. "What would I do without you?" he called, running forward towards the sliding doors as he began to hear the sirens.

"Who knows? But I still want a pay raise!" she called after him, laughing.

A set of double doors was blasted open as the first of the emergency technicians came walking in with a gurney. "Who's our first contestant today?" Dr. Roberts asked them, greeting them and then ushering them back down the hallway.

"I told you I'm bloody well fine! Let me up!" a young man in a green uniform demanded as he struggled to get up. "Where did you put Alfred? Where are the rest of those damned gits?!"

"Calm down sir," the technician told him with a sigh, as if he had been doing it for a while. "He's right behind us, like I told you, and the rest of your friends are on their way."

Dr. Roberts smiled. "Trauma 1 – he'll be fine. Who's next?" he called, the man wheeling Arthur down the hall as he vehemently continued to protest.

"His brother," another technician called as he wheeled in a second gurney through the set of double doors. The blonde young man was unconscious, a leather bomber jacket, brown coat, and white dress shirt open to reveal several bloody bandages beneath it. However, he was covered in more blood than had come from him; especially his bare hands which were covered in the red, sticky substance.

"Not his then, I assume?" Dr. Roberts asked the technician, nodding his head towards the man's hands.

"No – it's from the woman," the emergency technician confirmed. "I'll take this guy from here – they're going to need your assistance immediately," he added with a dark look.

"Alright – Trauma 2 is yours. Where is she?"

"Right here!" a woman's voice called, tinged with urgency. Dr. Roberts turned around to see three people wheeling another gurney towards him. One was holding up a red bag over her right arm, the woman wheeling the gurney, and another pumping a large plastic bubble that covered her mouth and nose. "Female, mid-twenties, full side impact by car resulting in human rollover. Right leg is smashed to pieces, right hip is at least cracked, no less than five broken ribs, her left arm broken clean in two, various deep cuts all over thanks to the shattered glass from the windshield, and one deep contusion to the right side of her forehead. It's pulled back the skin a bit, and really concerns me considering how close to the eye it is. Also has acute head trauma from hitting the concrete first after the car finished with her. Internal damage is unknown; there must be some because of blood in the oral and nasal cavities."

"What was the driver going, fifty?!" he exclaimed as they entered the fifth trauma room.

"No – it was only thirty, but the driver hit a slick patch of ice which accelerated his speed and proceeded to lock his brakes on him. So he was going at least forty or forty-five when he struck her."

"And she still managed to push the other two out of the way?" he sighed, propping open eyelids and shining a flashlight into them. No dilation of the blank emerald pupils.

"Yeah, complete strangers," the woman confirmed.

"Well what do you know? I guess there are still some good people left in this world. Name?" he asked.

"Hope," a different voice suddenly said softly. The doctor, nurses, and emergency technicians looked up towards the door to see a young man in a white coat lined with faux fur and goggles on his head looking at them sadly. "Her name is Hope."

Dr. Roberts smiled at him. "Well then Hope," he said, leaning down and speaking a little more loudly, "let's make sure you live up to your namesake then, alright?"

~:~:~

"I said let me see him, damn you! Let me up from this bed at once!" Arthur Kirkland thundered with the full power of the country of England behind it.

"Sir, please calm down. Your brother is fine – his stomach is just being re-bandaged and his small wounds treated just like yours are. You will be able to see him in a few minutes if you would _just hold still_," the nurse told him through clenched teeth. She was currently inserting several stitches into his forearm. He had been adamant the entire time, through inserting the needle with the numbing liquid to putting in the actual stitches themselves. "There – just let me place a bandage over it to protect the stitches themselves and you can go see him."

"About bloody time," he mumbled, crossing his arms as she rolled her stool away from him over to a small table behind her. Arthur's white dress shirt was pulled up to his elbow, his green jacket tossed behind him on the small hospital bed. There was a small red stain within the folded cloth, as well as a little on his jacket which now sported a torn spot. His eyes continued to dart towards the open doorway, watching the influx of nurses and doctors walking back and forth across it. He could still hear a large commotion coming from down the hall, peoples shouting orders back and forth; he could only guess it was the staff working on Hope.

He shuddered, thinking back to only thirty minutes before…

~:~:~

He was dreaming, his mind running the scene over and over again like an antique projector. The film was in black and white, save for the bleak scarlet contrast covering most of the images…but this was no dream. It was a nightmare.

_It took Alfred a moment to regain his senses after being pushed away and tossed like a rag doll, untangling himself from Arthur as he wobbled unsteadily to his feet. His stomach was shooting pains at him again for having landed on it, but he didn't care. He looked around the scene of the accident as if time had frozen in place._

_The black car had screeched to a halt thirty feet to his left, where the brakes had finally taken after the ice disappeared. The windshield was cracked; the roof dented a minute amount from the impact._

_The bodily impact of a normal human who had pushed him out of the way at the last second. He looked around for it, straining his still slightly blurred vision. Far behind the car, on the other side of the crosswalk, a body lay particularly still in a facedown position._

_He walked slowly over to it, sinking to his knees. He had heard her shout at him just before she had shoved him out of the way. How was she supposed to know that he would have been just fine? Whereas she…she…_

_Alfred carefully turned her over onto her back, carefully watching her left arm, which was bent at an unnatural angle. Blood poured profusely from a deep gash on her forehead as well as cuts littered all over her body from the collision with the windshield. Her right side was a mess; her coat and shirt torn into tattered pieces from where the car had initially hit her, causing her to fly up over the hood, the windshield, and the roof only to hit the sidewalk with a sickening crunch before rolling to a stop more than twenty feet away. She was bleeding out over the sidewalk, a small puddle beginning to form around them as it stained his clothes anew._

_"Why?" he murmured, lifting her head up. He cradled her limp form in his arms as he rocked her, tears falling from his eyes as he held her head to his chest. "Why?" he demanded in a hoarse voice._

_A gurgled noise suddenly erupted near his ear. He quickly turned his head and looked down to see her blinking her eyes at him. "Forgot…" she managed to whisper, her right hand trying desperately to give him something. "Forgot…gloves…" she told him with a smile, as a small trickle of blood leaked out from the side of her mouth._

_"You stupid idiot," he told her, unable to control the sob that escaped. "They're just gloves."_

_The woman chuckled, or as much as she could. Blood continued to flow from her head and side, her life slowly ebbing away. Alfred could feel her fading; as one of his people, he could always feel when one of them died. "Come on, you've got to stay awake," he told her, forcing himself to smile, as he patted her cheek with his right hand, his left holding her up._

_She smiled at him, but her eyes were slowly losing their sparkle. "Can't," she whispered to him. "Tired…" Her eyes continued to close until her lids greeted each other and she stirred no more._

_"Hey," Alfred told her, nudging her. "Wake up!" he cried at her, shaking her. She didn't move._

"_No…"_

"Alfred…"

_Her blood…it was everywhere…_

_His hands were stained with it, soiled with it, as if he had been the one driving._

"Alfred, wake up!" the voice demanded as it shook his shoulder.

"No!" he screamed, jumping up in the bed, his heart monitor to beeping wildly at his racing pace. Several pairs of calming hands were on him immediately, talking gently to him.

"Alfred, it's alright, you're safe now," a rough voice said from his right.

Alfred was at the point of hyperventilation; he was breathing quickly but too shallowly to take any proper oxygen into his body. His hands were clenched around the blanket covering him, his knuckles white. His eyes stared forward, unable to see anything but blood.

"Alfred, breathe," a voice to his left instructed him, placing a hand over his and trying to gently uncurl his fist.

"_Oui, mon petite_, listen to us. You are in the hospital. We are all here – Matthew, Arthur, and I. Please, just look at us?"

Alfred swallowed, taking one giant deep gulp of air. That did the trick; his body slowly began to loosen and he could begin to breathe normally again. He blinked. Through his blurred vision he managed to make out several human-shaped objects standing around the bed he was lying on. "F-Francis?" he murmured, turning to his right.

"_Oui, _oh_ oui!_" he exclaimed, grasping his right hand carefully.

"And…Arthur?" he said, turning farther to his right.

"I'm here, m'boy, don't you fret," Arthur told him, squeezing his shoulder.

"Matthew," he whispered, turning to his left.

"Alfred," his brother whispered back, smiling as he gripped his left hand tighter.

"Where…?" he murmured, looking down at his hands. He wiggled the fingers on his right hand as Francis let him go, feeling the spot where the needle rested underneath the skin. The hospital staff had removed his bomber coat and brown uniform jacket as well as his shoes, leaving him in his white dress shirt and pants.

"Saving Grace Medical Hospital, on the east side of the city, in the emergency ward," Matthew told him.

Alfred closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging. Matthew helped to ease him back against the back of the bed. "How are you feeling?" Arthur asked him carefully, leaning on the railing of the bed.

"…tired," he told them after a moment, "and sore." He bit his lip, remembering his dream, which had not been a dream but reality. "How…how is she?" he asked them in a broken voice, closing his eyes.

The three Nations looked at each other, silent. Matthew was the first to break the silence, continuing to keep his hold on his brother's needle-free hand. "We still don't know yet," he began, watching his brother for any reaction. "When we arrived they took you and Arthur away and bandaged you both back up, putting you in your own rooms. The Francis and I were allowed to see you shortly after that, but you've been sleeping this entire time. What we do know is that when they brought her in, the doctors did the basic emergency type procedures on her before performing an assortment of different of tests. Alfred…they took her into the operating room less than an hour later and have been in there since."

Alfred swallowed loudly. "How long?" he whispered to his twin, squeezing his hand like a lifeline.

"It's seven o'clock now…so about five hours," he told him quietly.

America was silent at this piece of information. He turned his gaze away from his brothers, choosing instead to stare at the foot of the hospital bed. He pulled his hand away from Matthew and allowed it to rest on his stomach. The room was silent as the rest of the hospital continued at a rapid pace around them, the small room forgotten in the larger scheme of the universe.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, England reached out towards him. "Alfred –" he began.

"Please go," he told them softly.

He pulled back in surprise, looking over to an equally surprised France.

"But Alfred –" Matthew began, looking worriedly over to his older brothers.

"I just…have some things to think over right now," he told them in a quiet but calm voice, still not meeting their confused gazes.

"But –" Arthur started to say this time, before he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"_Non,_ Arthur. Ve vill go." He pulled England along with him, turning around silently and walking the two of them out the door. Before leaving, he added, "Ve vill be back later, when you are ready to be released. Please rest for now Alfred."

"You too," Alfred told Matthew as France and England disappeared.

"But Alf-"

"Mattie, _go_."

Canada looked at this twin with a pitying gaze before dipping his head in acknowledgement. "I'll be back with Francis and Arthur in a little while. Come on Kumajirou," he said as he knelt down and beckoned towards the foot of Alfred's bed. Suddenly a miniature white polar bear came into view, waddling towards Matthew's waiting arms. Scooping him up, he turned around and quickly strode out of the room, a hurt look on his face.

Alfred closed his eyes in defeat, exhaling a large shaky breath he didn't know he had been holding in. _I…I froze…I was afraid…_

~:~:~

The sky was dark and the twinkling stars were hidden by the cloudy night. It had been three hours since Arthur had been officially released from the hospital, while Alfred still was to be under observation for the next hour. The taxis full of the other Nations had arrived shortly after the ambulances, but only Matthew and Francis had been allowed into the emergency department while the rest had to remain outside in a special waiting room set up for them by the government agents who had accompanied them in the secondary Air Force One.

"Vending machine quality, but hot," Francis said dryly as he handed his brother a steaming paper cup.

"Thank you," Arthur sighed, taking the small cup. He took a sip, and then grimaced. "I do not know how these people can claim this as a proper tea," he said with disgust, but forced the scalding concoction down his throat anyway.

The two of them sat in silence drinking their tea. The other Nations were currently talking, watching television, or getting back in touch with their respective countries and notifying other countries of the situation with America.

"How vas comrade America?" Russia asked them, his large feet taking up most of the coffee table as he reclined. The three of them had sat down together after they had returned from America's room in the emergency department. There had been great sighs of relief all around, but none had ventured forth to visit the young Nation as of yet…after hearing about the secondary situation concerning the woman.

"Surprisingly quiet," Arthur sighed, slouching in his chair for once. The great and proud Nation of England shook his head wearily. "I can only assume he thinks it is our fault that this has happened."

"Well…" Russia began, holding up a hand.

"Of course it is!" he snapped, interrupting him. Russia backed down, his steely gaze meeting Arthur's. "Sorry," he suddenly said, sighing again.

"Ve only vanted vat vas best for him," Francis added, sipping his tea. "Being his older brothers, ve have gone through zis situation before."

"But vich situation?" Russia asked him. "The massacre at the military base, or falling in love? He has been in many battles before," he pointed out.

"The latter, of course," Francis said, indignant. "_Mon petit frère _is no weakling! That is nothing to him! But…"

"But he's never had the chance to get to know any women before," Arthur said quietly, staring into space. "He stayed at her apartment as she took care of him, was kind to him, bandaged his wounds, and conversed with him. Even meeting her for that short period of time, _I_ could even tell she was a very nice person. He was smitten with her; you should have seen him," he told Russia, smiling wistfully as other memories unwillingly floated to the surface. "They were so comfortable with each other, understood each other so well…if he had been a normal human, I'm sure they could have lived happily together."

"He asked about her after vaking up then, I presume?" Russia asked him.

"Almost immediately," Francis answered for him. "I could see that it vas hurting him, to have been the cause of her pain. He is probably thinking that it is his fault besides ours that zis has happened."

"You should tell him then…and Matthew too," a deep voice spoke up from behind them.

"Ludwig," Arthur greeted him. "Tell them what?"

"About the unwritten rules that we have come to live by," he told them, coming around the chairs to face them. "They have been old enough for a while now to become aware of the delicate interactions between ourselves and our people." Francis, Arthur, and even Ivan lowered their heads. "Come now, you cannot coddle them forever," the tall German scolded them.

England flinched. "I know," he snapped back at him.

"We are mortal, we are 'human,' we all make mistakes," a soft voice added. Japan strode up quietly behind Germany. "We have fallen in love before, and have paid the price for it. We only wish to see that they do not go through that same heartache."

"Love?" a much younger voice questioned them. The Nations spun around to see Canada standing there with Kumajirou in his arms, tilting his head in a confused manner. "Is that what this is all about?"

"Matthew!" France and England sputtered, standing up quickly.

The young Nation walked forward to stand next to Japan and Germany. "If this is what you think Alfred is being quiet over, I'm afraid you are all mistaken."

"What do you mean?!" Francis asked him, shocked.

"Of course Alfred is in love with Hope! That is as plain as day," Matthew stated. "But I thought you all knew Alfred better than that."

"Why won't he talk to us then? For once, I don't know whether he's angry, or sad, or…or something!" Arthur said, exasperated as he threw his hands up in the air.

"It's because she is a _true_ hero. Well, heroine."

The Nations present sat there looking like fish out of water. "A hero?!" Arthur said indignantly, standing up. "He's at this hero business again?!"

"No, no. Not like that," Matthew said, pushing gently on Arthur's shoulder so the two of them sat down on the small sofa. "Alfred is obsessed with being a hero, correct?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"And what do heroes do?"

"Well, they make sure that ze bad guys go to prison, wear capes, protect people," Russia began listing off on his fingers.

"Alfred idolizes heroes, doesn't he? He is always trying to be one," Matthew prompted them. "One of the reasons why he didn't tell us he was sick before he came here," he added.

"Well that was just silly though!" Francis pouted. "If he vasn't feeling well, he could have told us. Ve vould have understood; he doesn't have to be…" Francis trailed off, realization dawning on his face. "He doesn't have to be strong all the time."

"He _thinks_ he does," Arthur added, also suddenly realizing what Francis meant. "Alfred thinks he has to be strong for the rest of us. To keep _us_ from worrying, to protect _us_. He never told anyone because he didn't want us unnecessarily worrying over him when almost all of us have bigger things to worry about. But his silence makes us worry all the more," he added sullenly.

"Exactly. And this woman was both sides of the coin; she put aside everything in her life to care for him, yet she never once complained. He wants to be like her: to be strong and not have to rely on anyone. However, because she fell in love with him, she began to rely on him. Now Alfred has reciprocated that in his mind to mean that because she let herself slip and rely on him, that it was the reason she pushed him out of the way of that car. He thinks that because she fell in love with him, allowing herself to be momentarily weakened, that it might kill her. _He_ is _her_ kryptonite, figuratively speaking." The Nations digested this new piece of information, mulling over it in their minds. Matthew continued. "Alfred thinks now that if shows any sign of weakness to _anyone_ that something bad will happen. He feels he has to be strong for all of us; if the United States of America fell, who would protect us then?"

The Nations bowed their heads in shame. When had it come to this? Were they all so fragile and senile in their old age that they would allow one of the last childlike Nations to put all of this weight on his own shoulders?

Arthur stood up. The other Nations looked up at him, seeing his determined expression. "I think it's about time we set him straight, agreed?"

~:~:~

The United States of America was sitting in the corner of the common room, staring blankly out of the large picture window. The lights of the buildings in the distance twinkled merrily, and a light snowfall had begun. Contrasting greatly with his current mood, he felt empty and listless. He hadn't spoken a word to anyone since the hospital had released him, and had only followed his brothers to where the other Nations had congregated. Although they had all crowded around with happiness at finding him well and in one piece, they had quickly noticed his morose and distant behavior and given him room.

While Francis and Arthur dealt with the other Nations, Alfred had wandered around the large room and ended up in this corner where he sat himself down and had not moved in a long while. All he could think about was Hope. She was still alive; that he knew, at least. Even so, she was so faint in his mind that he could barely sense her presence within the millions of others inside of him.

Each Nation was connected to its people; Nations knew when their people were born, when they died, and many other things in between. However, because the Nation's existence was such a mystery in and of itself, they had to be extremely careful when dealing with normal humans. At times it was not safe, practically dangerous to be around them; their unnatural strength, their scent, even their presence altered and warped normal human's perceptions whenever they were near. Of course, not in a bad way; the eye tended to…slip over them, as if they were not even there.

Several times during history, Nations have intervened to prevent tragedy within their own country. However, in doing so, they ultimately hurt their own people to do so. One such time for Alfred had been the Civil War…but he shook his head slowly. He wasn't going to think back to that now. Right now there was a young woman up in surgery, fighting for her life because he had been selfish.

Alfred watched the snow fall outside of the window gently, reflecting in a pair of empty metal frames sitting on the coffee table in front of him. Arthur had taught him when he was little that each snowflake was different, that no two were ever the same. His arms gripped his knees closer to his chest. He was like an eternal snowflake; how can a snowflake that is able to live in all four seasons _ever_ be with a snowflake that will melt once it lands on your hand?

"Alfred?" a voice called to him.

Alfred continued leaning against the window, his right temple cold, barely aware of the world around him.

"Alfred," the voice called again, shaking him gently.

"I told you – he's been like this since we came back," another voice said, blending into the first.

"I see. Well, let's try this then."

Alfred felt the air around him move and a face swam into view in his left peripheral vision. Two hands suddenly grabbed the sides of his face and forced him to look at whoever it was in the eyes. "Alfred, look at me. There's something we have to discuss."

Alfred moved his eyes sluggishly to blink at an older gentleman's face.

"Hope is out of surgery."

Alfred didn't answer. He barely acknowledged this wonderful news. He just stared blankly into the other man's face.

"Hmm. Strange."

"Strange? Vat are you talking about? Vat's _wrong_ with him?" another voice pleaded. "This isn't like him at all!"

"Well, I have a guess. You said he felt guilty? That he feels like this is his fault?" he voice asked, never once breaking eye contact with Alfred. He noticed that Alfred slowly resumed staring out the window.

"Yes," a soft voice answered.

"Well Alfred. For one thing, none of this is your fault. Hope did this all of her own free will. _And_ she will get a stern talking to about jumping in front of speeding cars when she wakes up," the voice added as he continued to look at Alfred. "But right now she is still in critical condition. Stable, but critical, and I think right now what she needs most is a person she cares about to be with her. Her family has been contacted, but they won't be able to be here for a while yet. Would you please go and sit with her until they do?" the man asked him.

He paused, waiting for Alfred to respond. The young man stared out of the window, no indication of having heard anything the man said. However, he did do something: although his gaze was turned, mirrored in the reflection of the window there was one small tear trickling out of the side of his right eye.

"Ah, I see," the man said, and let go of Alfred's face in order to stand up straight again.

"What?" Arthur asked him in earnest, his gaze switching between the doctor and Alfred.

"He doesn't think he's good enough to go and visit her. He thinks it is his fault that she is up there, and that she is too good to have a person like him visit her. Nonsense, I would say, but he seems to be a very thick-headed person."

"Dr. Roberts, what can we do?" Matthew asked him in his quiet voice. "Why has he closed himself off from us?"

Dr. Roberts shrugged. "People deal with tragedy in many forms. Facing it head on and dealing with it outright, crying until they pass out, ignoring it, or running away from it like a coward." He suddenly noticed a slight twitch in the corner from where Alfred was seated. He sidled over to where Alfred's brothers stood. "What is he like?" he whispered to them. "What is his personality like?"

"Well," Matthew began, "he's always been very protective of us, and always makes sure that we're safe and well taken care of. He likes to be the hero," he added with a smile.

"Aha!" he said to them with a smile. "I know just the cure."

"Vat is it? Can you help him?" Francis begged him.

"Of course – but stand back a little. He doesn't get mad easily, does he?" he called over his shoulder as he walked back to where Alfred sat.

"Not usually," Arthur called, slightly worried.

"Good." Dr. Roberts planted his feet in front of Alfred. "Now listen here you good for nothing. You self righteous ego maniac, how _dare_ you call yourself that woman's friend!" he shouted at Alfred, startling all of the Nations in the room, especially England, France, and Canada who were several feet behind him.

Alfred made no move to defend himself.

"Fine! Sit there! Who needs a washed up hero anyway?" Dr. Roberts taunted him. "If you couldn't save her, how could you ever possibly save your own family? You are weak. You are selfish. You want all the attention yet never want the blame. You couldn't protect yourself, you couldn't protect your older brother, and you couldn't protect her! You want to protect everyone, but you can't! You are just a wannabe. YOU ARE NOT A HE–" he began to shout.

But he never finished that sentence. As Dr. Roberts had been taunting Alfred, a smoldering fire began to burn within his eyes. After several words his grip loosened on his legs and they slowly drew to the floor. However, at what was to be the doctor's final sentence, he jumped up from his chair, grabbed him by the collar of his lab coat, and shoved him up against the wall with such force that the plaster cracked behind him.

He held up the doctor with ease, as if he weighed no more than a feather. His face was scrunched into a fearsome snarl while one lowly echoed from his mouth. "Shut up, you idiotic, senile excuse for a doctor," he growled at him.

"Alfred, stop this at once!" Arthur exclaimed in shock, running up and grabbing his shoulder.

"Lay off, you old geezer," he said in a low voice as he let go of the doctor with his right hand and used it to shove Arthur away. Poor England flew backwards through the air but was luckily caught by Russia, who had come running with China when the shouting had begun.

England cried out in pain, gripping his arm. A small amount of new blood showed on his jacket, informing him that he had ripped the stitches the nurse had put in.

"Alfred, calm yourself," Dr. Roberts told him a composed voice. "You've hurt your brother."

Alfred blinked, the menacing look suddenly gone from his face only to be replaced by a look of utter confusion. "W-what?" he stuttered as he gently lowered the doctor from the wall.

"Turn around," he told him, shaking himself off and fixing his rumpled coat.

Alfred turned around to see several people looking at him with fear in their eyes. Francis and Matthew were on either side of Arthur, while Russia and China were standing in front of them to block anything Alfred might do. The two communist Nations eyed him with a sense of unease. However, what drew Alfred's attention down was the hand that was gripped tightly over Arthur's arm, a red blossom forming around it.

"What…what have I done…?" Alfred whispered as he fell to his knees. He covered his face with his hands, trying to hide his shame as his shoulders shook. "Arthur…Arthur, I'm so sorry," he managed to say in a choked voice.

Dr. Roberts walked passed the five men. "He's fine now – just needed a little help snapping out of it. I'll be back in a few minutes to escort you up to Hope's room in the ICU." He nodded to them and continued on his way.

It was silent in the large waiting room as the Nations held their breath, waiting to see what would happen. However, it was Arthur who made the first move. "Let me up," he told Matthew and Francis.

"But Arthur –"

"I'm fine," he insisted as the two pairs of hands let him go. He stumbled up to his feet and took several shaky steps forward. Ivan and Yao let him pass, and he walked to where Alfred was kneeling as he cried. He knelt down in front of Alfred. "Alfred," he said in a stern voice. "Look at me."

Alfred shook his head. "I'm such a child. You were right, Arthur – I should have never become –"

"Will you just shut up already?" Arthur asked him as he grabbed his hands and drew them away from his face suddenly.

Alfred opened his eyes to see Arthur looking at him, an understanding smile on his face. "B-but…you're arm…"

"Will heal, as will we all – including Hope," he added.

Alfred could only cry harder, and Arthur enveloped him with his good right arm. "There now, don't worry. Everything will work out for the best, you'll see. Now, I think it's high time that we played the hero role, don't you think?" he told Alfred as he hugged him close. "This time _let_ me protect you Alfred."

"And me," a quiet voice added, kneeling down beside the two of them.

"_Me trois!_" yet another voice told him from his other side.

"Alfred, you don't have to protect us all of the time," Arthur continued in a quiet voice. "You don't have to be strong and brave when you don't feel like it. Talk to us – you worry us even more when you don't say anything, and let _us_ protect you for once. Will you let us?"

"Let us help you!" Francis added. "Please forgive us for being so blindingly stupid. You should not have to keep all of the world's problems on your shoulders. You are the United States of America, but you aren't perfect. No one is."

"Ve have all made mistakes in past," Ivan said as well, coming forward. "Ve only wanted to protect you and Matthew from what we have suffered from. That is why the three of us decided to try and keep the two of you apart. Ve did not want you to feel how it was to have loved and lost, I believe the phrase is."

"She was – _is_ – a hero, in every way that you think Alfred. Yes, she put aside her own life for a day or two to care for you. She even pushed you out of the way of that car. But like every hero, she is mortal. _Unlike you_. Although it would have hurt, you would have easily survived a hit from a car going at that speed. Hope…" Arthur trailed off. "Listen to me Alfred. Hope will heal from these injuries; she is resilient, like her Nation is."

"And stubborn," added Matthew with a smile.

"I allowed myself to get close to her…closer than I should be with any of my people. Hope felt obligated to protect me," Alfred protested mutedly. "I should have made her leave me in that alley. I should never have allowed myself to…to…" he said, feeling his face heat up. Alfred was glad that Arthur still had him tight in his grasp.

"To like her?" Matthew supplied. "But Alfred, we all do!"

"The only problem is that the two of you have begun to grow to something beyond that," Arthur told him gently, "and that is what put the two of you in danger."

"Danger?" Alfred repeated, tasting the word on his tongue.

"Of making the same mistakes we have, that put our countries at great risk."

He blinked.

Arthur sighed, reiterating his point. "None of us mind if you and that woman stay acquaintances Alfred. She is a very sweet girl. We just don't want to see you get hurt. You've never experienced the pain of watching the people closest to you grow up…grow old…even _die_ while you remained unchanged." Alfred heard a weariness in Arthur's voice as he spoke. "Trust us: you do not want to experience that."

Alfred finally pulled away from his older brother, noting his expression. His eyebrows were crossed in an intense look of concern, but his usually bright green eyes bore a heavy weight of sadness behind them. _They're trying to cheer me up, but also looking out for my best interests,_ he thought to himself. _But it isn't as easy as they think…to forgive and forget._ He sighed softly. "Thank you," he told them in a quiet but firm voice.

Arthur smiled at his younger brother. _Well, it's a start,_ he admitted to himself. "Now, I believe that I have an appointment with that lovely nurse from the emergency department again, and you have an appointment to keep with Dr. Roberts. Shall we?"

~:~:~

"Now, as I've said, she is still in critical condition," Dr. Roberts reminded Alfred and Matthew as a soft _ding_ rang out, and a green arrow appeared in an upward direction over the door to their left. Dr. Roberts held out his arm, indicating for the two of them to enter. The twin Nations walked in slowly, with Matthew leading Alfred by the arm; since Texas had broken in his initial fall, the poor Nation was still without clear vision – although he could see mostly everything around him, although slightly blurred.

Dr. Roberts walked in behind them, the doors automatically closing. He pressed the button for the fifth floor, the top floor of that wing of the hospital. "As I was saying," he continued, turning to face them as the elevator suddenly lurched upwards. "She is in critical condition, but _stable_. We are pumping her body with the blood and nutrients necessary to fight off infection and to begin assisting in healing her numerous injuries." He paused, taking a moment to give Alfred a long glance. "Are you sure you are ready young man?" he asked him. "You are going to see many machines, tubes, wires, and other contraptions hooked up to your friend – many keeping her alive. Just give the word, and you can leave."

"I'll be fine," Alfred told him in a quiet voice. "I've…seen worse."

Dr. Roberts nodded, assuming that Alfred had meant the accident – not hundreds of years of bloody wars.

Matthew, on the other hand, understood perfectly. "Will she wake up anytime soon?" he asked hopefully.

Dr. Roberts shook his head uncertainly. "She's still out from the anesthetic we used during surgery, and beyond that her body is going to be extremely weak. It's highly doubtful that she will be waking up anytime today or tonight."

"Oh." Matthew's hopeful gaze fell. He knew that the Nations wouldn't be able to stay at the hospital passed morning. As it was, several had left, necessity calling them back to their own countries.

"That is all right," Alfred told him. A sudden ding and another lurching sensation told them that they had arrived at the fifth floor. The doors opened, revealing a large set of double doors to their left, rimmed with warning signs and large letters over the top that read ICU – INTENSIVE CARE UNIT: USE CAUTION WHEN ENTERING.

"Please follow me," Dr. Roberts told them as he stepped out, walking a few feet before turning around to face them. "You'll need to wear some protective facial coverings, but other than that just please refrain from touching anything unless myself or one of the nurses say that it's alright." Nodding, he turned around and walked over to the wall closest to the doors and pressed a large round button. The doors swung open silently, each door moving in the opposite direction, and they entered.

The ICU wing of the hospital had the same kind of layout as the other wings, save for the fact that the rooms were larger to accommodate the life saving equipment within them. The nurses or doctors were making their rounds, just like the other floors, considering the three of them only saw the one lonely nurse on duty at the front desk as they entered.

"Evening," Dr. Roberts called to the nurse, making her look up in surprise.

"Dr. Roberts! Back so soon?" she asked, standing up to reveal festive looking scrubs with rainbow smiley faces all over them.

"These are the gentlemen I was telling you about," he told her, leaning on the edge of the circular desk.

The nurse's eyes widened. "They…oh my," she finished, closing her gaping mouth.

"The masks?" Dr. Roberts reminded her gently.

"Oh, sorry sir," she said, fumbling around the desk until she produced three cotton surgical masks. "Her bandages have just been checked and changed, so she is not due for a checkup for another hour," the nurse told him, handing him the masks.

"Thank you," he told her, turning around and holding out two of the masks for Matthew and Alfred. "Put these on – the straps go over your ears."

Matthew grabbed them, quickly putting the one on himself and assisting Alfred with his. He felt his brother's hands shaking slightly and when finished squeezed his shoulder in a small gesture of reassurance. Alfred smiled at his brother, nodding to him. "We're ready," he told Dr. Roberts.

The doctor smiled, seeing at how close the two of them were. "Alright – please follow me." He turned and walked towards yet another set of glass double doors; this time, however, the nurse typed in a combination at her computer that set off a loud beeping noise. The doors opened with a futuristic _whoosh_, the sealed atmosphere within the wing equalizing with the small area the nurse's desk was located in.

The first sets of doors on either side of them were either bathrooms or storage closets. Going a bit farther, the twins could see the number 302 on their left and a small sign on the corner to their right. It pointed out that rooms 302 through 310 were on the immediate left, and rooms 312 to 320 were on the right. Dr. Roberts continued down the right hallway.

The rooms only had one long glass panel and one glass door, so staff could easily look in on their patients if need be. Voices were heard as the three of them passed by several slightly opened doors, most with curtains drawn across them. Some were doctors and nurses spouting off medical information to each other, still more were families visiting with critically ill loved ones.

Alfred hated hospitals. He hated them with a passion. Whether it was the sterile antiseptic smell lingering over everything, or the permeating sense of sadness and dread, he couldn't tell. Unconsciously he drew closer to Matthew, his fingers gripping the arm closest to him.

Matthew gave his brother a pitying look. As a Nation they were all subject to many injuries and wounds, which means time in hospitals or at the least the sterile smell of peroxide and alcohol – now, at least. Matthew wrinkled his nose in remembrance of Arthur's poultices when they were just children; they worked, of course, but made them smell for days on end.

"312…314…316…ah-ha!" Dr. Roberts said quietly to himself. He stopped outside of the glass door and glanced down at the information under the door number:

**Patient #02468**

**Name: Hope Richardson**

**Age: 24**

**Status: Critical But Stable**

**Physician: Dr. Larry Roberts**

**Restrictions: STRICT STERILIZATION**

"Here we are," Dr. Roberts told them, turning around. "I don't really care how long either of you stay, but please do not touch any of the equipment. If…something should happen, and the nurses or I need to work, please vacate the room and this floor immediately. We'll come get you. Is that clear?"

"Yes doctor," the two mean replied in chorus.

"May…may we see her now?" Alfred asked him in a nervous tone.

Dr. Roberts nodded, turning around to face the door. The bottom half of the door was solid metal, while the top half of the door was glass; there was a curtain separating the bed and the machines from onlookers, so no one could not immediately see what or _who_ was inside. Dr. Roberts pressed the rectangular button on the middle right side of the door. It _whooshed_ open quietly, and the three of them walked in.

The door closed just as quietly, leaving them in the dark, silent room. Well, except for the slow but steady _beep beep beep_ of the heart monitor hidden behind the curtain. Dr. Roberts walked forward and with practiced ease drew the curtain from the right all the way to the left, revealing the gruesome and pitiable scene before them.

Hope lay on the hospital bed, small and fragile. Tubes and wires poked out from numerous places on her body. Alfred slowly moved forward; he couldn't help but stare at all of her injuries.

Her right leg was raised about half a foot off of the bed thanks to a strange metal contraption surround it. A bleached white cast ran the full length of her leg from the top of her thigh to her ankle, as well as a lower body cast that covered from the top of her thighs to the middle of her stomach. Her left arm was encased in a cast as well, from the base of her fingers to just below her armpit. One couldn't see it, but from the top of her abdominal cast to under her arms her broken ribs were tightly wrapped so she could not move them. There were numerous bandages along her exposed arms and legs from where the glass had cut into her. There was a large amount of gauze bandages wrapped around her head, and half of it wrapping down and around her right eye, obscuring it from view. She had dual nose tube, one protruding out of each nostril, as well as an oxygen mask around her mouth.

She was deathly pale, her once fierce curly hair lying limp around her pallid face. Every breath she took was shallow, fogging up the oxygen mask very little. The IV stand next to her bed held three plastic containers: one clear, one slightly cloudy, and one holding the unmistakable crimson color of blood. They trailed down into her right hand, infusing her body with much needed fluids to assist in healing her wounds.

"Hope…" Alfred whispered softly, walking up to stand next to the bed. Matthew stayed just behind him, shaking his head.

Dr. Roberts turned. "I will be just down the hall if you need anything," he told them quietly.

"Thank you," Matthew called to him. The doctor nodded before pressing the button on the inside of the door, then quickly walking out and closing it behind him, leaving the brothers in silence.

Matthew turned around, seeing Alfred's large frozen frame. He walked over to the corner and pulled out one of the chairs and brought it up next to him. "Alfred," he said softly, pulling his brother to sit down.

Alfred followed him blindly, sitting down in the chair. "She looks…so fragile," he whispered. He raised his hand, as if to touch her, but immediately pulled it back. "Hope…I'm sorry…" he whispered in an agonized voice.

She didn't reply, but took another shaky breath.

"Alfred, this wasn't your fault," Matthew told him, standing on his left side. He placed a hand on his shoulder. "She did it of her own free will. One of the best liberties of your people and your country, don't you agree?"

Alfred nodded slowly. "Why did she do it though? Why did she push us out of the way? She…Matthew, she _knew_ I was different. And she probably assumed that the four of you were different too. She didn't have to push us out of the way, yet she still did. Why?" he asked in a bitter voice. He continued on when Matthew didn't reply, talking to Hope this time. "You know, you're a hero. You took care of me and never once asked for anything in return. You pushed Arthur and I out of the way of a speeding car although you knew you were going to get hurt, just to give me my gloves back. You never think about yourself! You're selfless, even to the point of feeling guilty if anyone even tries to take care of you!"

Alfred paused. "But do you know something? It's those qualities I admire the most about you. You are who I wanted to be; the hero, someone who can protect everyone without having to rely on everyone and make them worry about you. I wanted to be the person that everyone could turn to, but also the person who wouldn't have to trouble anyone else. And look at me." He stared down at the band aid on the back of his hand, feeling the fresh bandages across his stomach. "Two hundred and thirty years later and I'm no more independent than when I started."

Silence greeted Alfred's statements. Well, almost silence. Matthew was looking down at his twin with a sad smile; he was finally venting out his frustrations from this matter in a positive way. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around his brother, who shakily gripped his arm.

"Hope, what am I supposed to do?" he told her, bending forward in Canada's embrace, his shoulders shaking. "I…I don't know. I just don't know anymore." He started crying silently, tears running down his face. "What right do I have to take my seat next to my brothers and sisters, to stand proudly next to those who have stood for centuries, when I couldn't even save just one of my people? I allowed myself to get close to you, to actually get to know you, and you're paying the ultimate price for it. Arthur and Francis were right…they were trying to protect me; not from you, but from myself. Me, the wannabe hero…and you, the everyday hero."


	7. Mortality

The night waxed into the wee morning hours, the moon and stars dancing across the frigid night sky. Alfred had yet to leave Hope's side, even when Dr. Roberts and the nurses came in to check her vital signs, change the fluid bags, or to check her bandages. There was good news there, at least – nothing which had been sewn back together or back in place had come undone, and the internal bleeding had stopped completely, so all the blood that went into Hope _stayed_ in Hope.

Matthew had stayed with Alfred for a while, but soon enough Arthur and Francis had come upstairs. Francis had led his younger brother out of the room, noting the dark circles beginning to form under his former charge's eyes. Arthur then had taken to sitting with Alfred, keeping the silent Nation company. Of course, Matthew had not disclosed the discussion between himself, Arthur, and Hope; now knowing that Hope knew before the accident that they had been special would only emphasize the fact that she and Alfred should be separated.

Arthur stretched in his chair on Alfred's right; the two of them hadn't moved in over two hours – which was about the time now that either a nurse or Dr. Roberts usually came in to check on their patient. He looked over to the taller Nation; Alfred was still leaning back in his chair, his demeanor all but screaming defeat but his eyes curiously alert to everything going on in the room.

"You should go get some sleep, old man," Alfred suddenly told him, his eyes darting over to the green uniformed man.

"You're one to talk, brat," Arthur retorted quickly.

"I slept earlier," Alfred said in his own defense.

"Not of your own volition," Arthur quickly pointed out. "You should try and get some sleep while –"

"I'm not leaving."

"Alfred…" Arthur said, sighing. "I know you feel a sense of duty towards her, but –"

"Hope?" a young male voice suddenly called, tinged with fear and worry, but muted through the glass. "What room is she in?"

"Here, 316 on your left," Dr. Roberts suddenly voiced.

Arthur had turned around to hear the commotion coming down the hall, and suddenly Dr. Roberts and a handsome young man suddenly popped into view through the glass window. The door opened with its silent _whoosh_ and a young man wearing a pair of faded jeans and a black leather jacket entered. "Hope, oh God, Hope," the man cried, running towards her. He suddenly stopped, realizing two strange men were already in the room. "Who are you two?" he said, his voice taking on a menacing edge.

"I'm Arthur, and this is my younger brother Alfred. You're sister saved our lives," Arthur quickly explained, standing with his hands up in the air in a gesture of innocence.

"Hope…saved you?" he stated in surprise, stopping mid step.

"Alfred, get up – let him through," Arthur told him gently as he pulled on his arm. "We'll be outside," he said, pulling the taller man along behind him.

Dr. Roberts watched the two men leave, turning to watch the newcomer. The young man had walked slowly towards Hope, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Hope…what happened to you?" he said in a small voice as he took in the view before him.

"Mr. Richardson, your sister is a very courageous person," Dr. Roberts began, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder and pushing him down into the chair Alfred had been occupying. "Now, let me begin by saying that although her situation is critical, she is _stable_ at this moment…"

Out in the hall Arthur and Alfred looked in on the two men, watching Dr. Roberts talk to the stranger. Arthur noted how the man carefully laid a hand on Hope's right arm, tapping it gently. "Family?" he guessed.

"Her younger brother," Alfred suddenly supplied.

Arthur turned to him. "He must have been the nearest – although didn't he say they had been contacted hours ago?"

Alfred shook his head, staring through the window. "Her parents are on vacation and her older brother lives out on the west coast. Her younger brother would have been the only one around – he goes to school south of here."

"Oh," Arthur replied, not having much to say about the new information. "He seems close to her."

"Yeah." The young man inside suddenly slumped his shoulders, shaking slightly. Dr. Roberts patted him on the shoulder, stood up, and walked towards the door. It opened quietly, and shut again before Alfred spoke. "How is he?"

"Hope's little brother? Fine. He raced here from his college with a car he borrowed from a friend, almost getting a speeding ticket in the process. He's contacted the rest of their family, who will begin showing up in the morning at the earliest. He does, however…wish to speak with the two of you when you have a moment. He wishes to know what happened."

"Of course," Arthur said. "We can't leave until morning as it is, with the planes grounded due to the freezing temperatures."

"I see," Dr. Roberts replied, nodding. "Will you be waiting here then?"

"For the time being." The three men fell silent, their gazes pulled towards the small family reunion. The young man seemed to be talking to the woman, patting her arm in reassurance.

"Well, I have other patients to check on, so please feel free to have the nurse page me if you need anything," Dr. Roberts said, stretching his back. "These old bones of mine don't do many night shifts anymore," he added with a laugh.

"Thank you again, Dr. Roberts," Arthur told him as he stuck his hand out. Dr. Roberts clasped it, and the two men shook heartily.

"No problem, Mr. Kirkland, no problem at all. I should be thanking both of you for taking up your time to honor that selfish request of mine."

"To stay with her?" Alfred spoke finally in a quiet voice. "I would have anyway. I want to stay…until she wakes up, at the very least."

Dr. Roberts and Arthur separated, and he walked up to Alfred and patted his arm. "She is lucky to have a friend like you. She is going to need all the support her family and her friends can give her in the months ahead, with recuperation and physical therapy."

"Will it be bad?" he asked him, looking down to study his shoes.

"It depends on the person in the end," he said with a sigh. "But she'll have to work on re-learning how to use the muscles in her arm and leg, as well as walking – she'll be like an infant for at least the next three months or more. She's persistent, though, I'll give her that," he added with a hearty laugh. "I know she'll make a splendid recovery. See you boys later!" he called, waving as he walked down the hall.

"Goodbye," Arthur called, noting that Alfred had slipped back into his morose silence. "See? She'll be as good as new!" he insisted, patting him on his shoulder. He turned towards the glass, looking into the darkened room. He noticed with the surprise that the young man had stood up, his back turned to them, as he spoke to his sister. Nodding, he turned around and walked towards the door, eying the two of them the entire time.

As the door opened, the young man with slightly long, medium brown hair stepped out into the hallway. He did not speak until the door had closed behind him and he heaved a great sigh, leaning against it. "So…" he started, scratching the side of his face. "Hope…pushed you two…out of the way of an incoming car?" he stated, tilting his head in what was probably confusion to the side. His eyes were a light shade of blue, unlike his sister's piercing emerald green.

Arthur stared hard at Alfred, who had decided to look up. He blinked, seeing Arthur's glare. "Um, yeah," he began, turning to face the youth. "We were in the middle of a crosswalk when…a car slid on the ice behind us. She pushed us out of the way just in time; thanks to her we only have a few bumps and bruises," he added in a softer tone, turning to face her room.

"How do you know Hope?" the youth questioned them. "I've never seen you before. Are you teachers?"

"N-no," Alfred, said. "We just met on Thursday for the first time."

The young man raised an eyebrow. "Really…what do you do then?"

"I work in the government," the United States of America told him. _Well, it's not like it's an outright lie…I _do_ work with Barack a lot…_

"I see." The man looked like he didn't believe him. Who would? "What about you? You're obviously a British native, not American."

_Smart git_, Arthur winced. "I work in Parliament," he told him. "I'm here visiting some relatives of mine, Alfred being one of them."

"Hmm." The man closed his eyes, bouncing against the metal and glass door for a minute in silence. He suddenly pushed himself away, walked up to Alfred, and stuck his hand out with a huge grin on his face. "Well, I'm glad to finally meet the one and only man who's ever caught my sister's attention."

Arthur and Alfred both stood there, mouths agape, but Alfred had enough sense to shake the young man's hand. "Finally?" he repeated. "What do you mean?"

"My sister may be a smart teacher and a talented musician, but she's as thick as a brick when it comes to relationships," the young man sighed, rolling his eyes as he pumped Alfred's hand one last time and let him go. "She's never once been with anybody for longer than one or two dates. Kind of makes me feel older than her once in a while," he added with a laugh. "But on behalf of my sister, thank you for staying with her. Dr. Roberts told me that you had stayed with her until I got here, which I'm very grateful for. He also told me that you aren't leaving until the morning?"

"Not until the airport clears the planes – they're all iced up right now," Arthur explained.

"I see. I would offer you a place to stay, but…"

"It's alright," Arthur told him, holding up his hand. "Our friends are holding up in one of the larger waiting rooms downstairs. We have coffee and tea if you're thirsty…?"

"Coffee sounds great," the young man said with a grateful smile. "The heater in the car didn't kick in for a while, so it was a cold drive even with gloves on," he said while rubbing his hands together.

"Then I'll bring some up. Alfred…?" Arthur asked, turning to face him. He was still staring into the window. "Alfred, did you want any coffee?" Arthur asked him softly as he walked up behind him.

"No thank you. If you don't mind…that is, I would like to…" he began to say, turning to face the young man.

"You know, I need to stretch my legs a bit. Do you mind if I go and get that coffee with you?" the young man asked Arthur. "And do you mind staying with Hope while I'm gone? I don't want her to be alone in case she wakes up anytime soon," he asked Alfred.

"I'll stay," Alfred immediately replied.

_Hmm, smart one, isn't he,_ Arthur commented to himself with a small smile. "Let's go and get that coffee then. We'll be back in a while," Arthur told him as the two of them began walking down the hall.

"Alright," Alfred called, hesitantly pressing the button into Hope's room. The door opened, and he stepped inside, taking a deep breath of antiseptic air. She was unchanged, still breathing shakily but with a steady heartbeat. He walked forward and sat in the chair he had occupied minutes before, looking over the woman's frail form. "Your brother seems nice," he told her honestly. "He resembles you in many ways."

_Beep…beep…beep…_

"He went with Arthur to go get some coffee. Do you know he raced here from his college? Dr. Roberts said he almost got a speeding ticket; however, I have the feeling that _almost_ is pretty normal for him," he added with a small laugh. It echoed in the room around him, filling it completely.

_Beep…beep… beep-beep…beep-beep…_

"You seem like you're doing better," he told her, looking up at her face. Still pale, still impassive. "I know it must hurt though…are…are you in a lot of pain?" he asked her in a quiet whisper.

Alfred blinked. He blinked again, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. No, Hope was still unconscious, but he _swore_ he saw her grimace a little. Looking behind him, he didn't see any nurses or Dr. Roberts standing there, so he reached forward. He placed his left hand under her right hand, curving it into a fist, while he placed his right hand over hers, covering the needle from sight. "Arthur used to hold my hand when I was little…when Matthew or I hurt ourselves. It always made me feel better. I don't really know a lot about what normal humans do, what a mother or father does for their children, but I know that Arthur is usually right about these things. Don't ever tell him that I told you that though," he said in a slight panic, his old self poking through for a moment.

And in that instant Hope's fingers moved, brushing against Alfred's for the briefest of moments.

Alfred couldn't believe it. Had…had Hope moved? "Hope…Hope…?" he repeated, a little louder this time as he leaned over the side of her bed. He squeezed her fingers back. "Hope, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand," he told her earnestly, waiting for a response.

Hope did not move again. Defeated, Alfred slowly sat back down in his chair. He did not let go of her hand, of course, but he laughed bitterly. "Arthur's right – I must be tired to be hallucinating like this," he justified to himself. He sat there once again in the half silence of the room, listening to the beeping of the heart monitor and the slow inhalation and exhalation of breaths. He closed his eyes, feeling how heavy they were, even with the annoyingly itchy mask covering his face. _Just…for a moment…_ he thought to himself.

~:~:~

_There was an infinite darkness all around. No beginning…no end…no in between. Just the darkness._

_Running…_

_Turning slowly…_

_Running faster…a stretched hand…_

_Frozen..._

_A smile…_

_A look of terror…_

_"Alfred!"_

_"Hope!"_

_"LOOK OUT!"_

_"No!"_

_Alfred could not find his way within the darkness. His nightmares had returned to plague him, now adding recent colorful imagery to his surroundings. The darkness with the voices of his people…those in pain and agony. "Where are you? Please, tell me what has happened!" he begged them._

It is too late for them,_ the raspy voice said, returning._

"_Too late?! Too late for what? If…if they are those at Ft. Hood…" he begged, "if they are dead, I can't do anything else for them!"_

Too late for them…not too late for her…_ the voice continued._

"_Hope? What's wrong with Hope?" he demanded, stepping forward._

She _is_ you…you _are_ her…your people _are_ you…you _are_ your people… _the voice told him, beginning to fade away._

_"Wait! I don't understand!" Alfred called, reaching out for the voice…_

…and ended up grabbing a fistful of blankets. He blinked his eyes open slowly, seeing only blankets and a long white cast in his immediate area of sight. He had fallen asleep on the edge of Hope's bed apparently. Sitting up, he used the back of his hands to rub the weariness out of his eyes…only to find that one would not move. He turned his head slowly to his left, and was astonished to see Hope grasping his hand tightly in her sleep. He tried pulling away once more, but her vice-like grip prevented him from doing so.

Alfred leaned over the hospital bed to look at her face underneath the oxygen mask. It was calm and serene, save for one lonely tear that slowly trailed down the outer edge of the plastic mask. He used his right hand to softly wipe it away, smiling gently. "I get it now," he told her, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I've always known it; you even told me about it, for that matter. You are me, I am you," he repeated, like the voice in his dream. "My people make up who I am, and I embody everything my people are. If I'm sad, you're sad. If I'm angry, you're angry. If I'm hurt…your hurt," he finished, gazing down into her closed eyes. "I am the embodiment of the people of the United States of America. You are the embodiment of everything I want to be…the hope for my people."

Alfred carefully removed his mask first as he slid it down around his neck. He then removed the oxygen mask from around Hope's face, being cautious of the nose tubes yet. Leaning down, he moved several damp curls away from her face and closed his eyes, pressing a tender but resolute kiss on her lips. They were dry but soft, and he pressed against them a little harder. He leaned motionless above her, holding them together for a long while as time stood still around the two of them.

After what felt like hours, but might only have been minutes, Alfred pulled away from Hope. Her grip had loosened on his hand in the middle of their kiss, so he was able to stand up fully after replacing their masks. The United States of America smiled down at Hope, a true smile after two days of heartache. "Thank you Hope," he told her quietly. He turned around, slowly walked towards the door. He knew he had to leave now; now, while he still could under his own free will. Hope was his hero – she had rescued him from his mistakes, and now he must reciprocate and rescue her from him.

"Al…fred…" a hoarse voice suddenly called out in a bare whisper.

He suddenly froze. Alfred knew she couldn't see him, what with her right eye bandaged over. If he stayed quiet, he could probably leave without her knowing. His mind told him to leave, to spare her even more pain…but as always, Alfred's heart was his master. He turned around and ran back to the bed, leaning over it right away, relief washing over his face. "Hope! Hope, you're awake," he cried at her.

She started momentarily, the unease of half perception and the painkillers slowing her mental processes. "Alfred…" she whispered, smiling up at him. "You're…okay…" She tried looking around the room, but suddenly noticed that she could barely move. She tried lifting her head, which in turn lifted her chest, but she cried out in pain as she did so.

"Shh! Don't move," Alfred told her, pushing against her shoulders. "You got into a fight with that car and lost, remember?" he remarked with a short laugh.

"…Arthur?" she asked him, trying to take in shorter breaths. Her chest really hurt for some reason. And so did her left arm and right leg too, for that matter.

"He's okay. A few stitches, but none the worse for wear," he answered.

She closed her eyes. "…me?" she asked in him a small voice.

Alfred grabbed her hand. "You're…in pretty bad shape. But nothing that can't be fixed!" he quickly added. "We'll be with you each step of the way," he assured her. "You won't go through this alone, I promise you."

As Hope's eyes were closed, she felt something was different about her face. She suddenly flushed, remembering her strange waking dream. "Did…did you…kiss me?" she asked him, opening her left eye and training it on his face. "I dreamt…I dreamt that…"

"Shh," he told her, placing his hand along the side of her face once more. "I finally figured everything out," he told her in a quiet voice, but proudly. "All thanks to you, I might add." He leaned down, an inch away from her face. "You are a truly wonderful person," he told her, kissing the plastic of her oxygen mask through his own mask.

Her face flushed a dark crimson, if not from a fever than obviously from embarrassment. "Alfred…" she said, squeezing his hand.

However…their tender moment was to be cut short but a sudden onrush of footsteps in the hallway. Alfred had just stood up when two nurses came running into the room. "Her heart rate has increased dramatically, as well as her intake on fluid! You'll have to move sir, we need to – oh…" the nurse suddenly said. As she was trying to push Alfred out of the way she finally noticed that her patient was conscious. "Well, well, well, what do you know! You're surprising everyone tonight, my dear. And you – out of the way for now. Into the hall with you!" the nurse told him with a playful shove, forcing Alfred towards the door.

"Alfred…" Hope called to him uneasily as the two nurses began poking her and checking her all over. Her head was turned on its side, her solitary green eye following his every move.

"It's okay – you're in the hospital. These nurses will take care of you. I'm going to go get Arthur and the others!" he told her as he trotted out the door.

"– hope it isn't anything serious," Alfred suddenly heard Dr. Roberts say from down the hall. He turned to face the window, hiding his expression – he wanted to surprise everyone with the great news. "Oh, there he is. Alfred, what's going on?" Dr. Roberts asked him as he walked up from behind him.

"Is Hope okay?" Hope's younger brother added, worried.

"Alfred, what is going on?" Arthur asked him. "Matthew and Francis are here too; they came up with us to see Hope." Alfred continued staring into the glass, but there was something different about his demeanor now. "…Alfred?" Arthur repeated, reaching out to touch him…

…but he suddenly turned around, an enormous smile on his face as he lifted England up into the air and swung him around. "She's awake!" he cried happily to his older brother.

"Al-Alfred, stop! Alfred, put me down!" he shouted at the exuberant Nation, laughing at the same time.

"Really?" Matthew said from behind him, smiling.

"_Mademoiselle_ is awake?" Francis' smile was genuinely sincere at seeing Alfred's happy countenance.

"She is!" Alfred said, putting Arthur down and jumping over to grab not only Canada but France as well and squeeze them into one enormous hug.

During this exchange Hope's younger brother plastered his face to the window, while Dr. Roberts quickly went into her room to assist the nurses. "She's awake," the young man sighed with relief, smiling at his reflection. He couldn't help but wonder at the four men behind him as he stood there. None of them were any older than his sister, or at least not by much. The way they carried themselves, their demeanor, and their choice of words…it made him wonder who they _really_ were. Unbeknownst to the four, this knowledge came easily to him; it was how he had identified Arthur's thick English accent as well. _The tall blonde is French, obviously, and the guy who looks like Alfred's twin has a heavy northern accent… Canadian, most likely._ He grinned. His theater professor should really rethink his grade in Foreign Languages and Accents.

~:~:~

The afternoon sunset streamed in through the large picture window, shining off of the newly fallen snow that had collected on the small sill. The rest of the city was coated in a picturesque white as it prepared for the holiday season.

Within the hospital room flowers of all colors, shapes, and sizes filled almost every surface, as well as several plush animals. A small stack of books sat on a movable table, which was currently residing over the resident in the bed. Upon the table was a lidded cup with a lengthy straw in it; the woman was trying to use her one good hand, her right, to pull it nearer to her and turn the straw around in order to reach the cooling water within. She couldn't sit up very far, due to her still healing broken ribs, and looked very silly trying to push her lips out farther to try and reach the straw. "Come on…just a little further…" she goaded herself.

"You look like a fish out of water," a male voice said with a laugh from the doorway, the sunlight glinting off a newly repaired Texas.

Hope looked up guiltily, then in mock seriousness reprimanded him. "If you have time to stand there and laugh at me, then you have time to help me get a drink of water."

"Yes ma'am," Alfred told her, grinning as he walked into her room. He set the book he was carrying down on the chair next to the bed, and picked up the Styrofoam cup, pulling the straw up to her mouth. "Here you go," he told her.

Hope smiled, placing her mouth on the end of the straw. After several deep gulps, she pulled away. "Ah, much better," she sighed.

Alfred replaced the cup with a smile. "Two straws together still isn't long enough?" he asked her as he removed his bomber jacket, shaking the lingering snow off of it as he threw it around the back of the chair.

"It's not my fault that I can't move more than two inches," she quipped back at him. She eyed the book Alfred grabbed as he sat down. "What did you bring today?" she asked him.

"_The Life and Times of the English Privateer Fleet_, as recorded by Captain Arthur Kirkland," Alfred told her, rolling his eyes. "He heard that you liked those Johnny Depp movies so much that you might like to know what it was _really_ like."

"Oh, but it must be so old!" she protested. "He should have kept it in his library."

"He said you can read it, but I can't, since apparently only you would 'appreciate its true value,'" he told her, holding up his fingers in quotation signs as he quoted his older brother. "Apparently I'm not trustworthy enough."

Hope laughed. "Tell him thank you, when you see him next. You'll have to add it my 'going to read once I have two hands to use again' pile," she told him, pointing at the small stack on the table.

Alfred smiled, looking around the room. Hope's family had all arrived the day after the accident: her aunt and her two sons, her lone surviving grandmother and her great aunt, many more relatives than one could count – even her parents came home early from their vacation. There were tears and reprimands, but overall everyone was just glad that she was alive and going to be alright. There were many introductions to be had, but only with America, England, Canada, and France – the rest of the Nations had booked out of the hospital after a brief hello to the patient early that morning, boarding the second Air Force One to head back to where they had come from.

In fact, that was where most of the presents had come from. Sitting on the larger table in front of the window were three of the largest bouquets: bright yellow sunflowers from Ivan, white lilies from Francis, and red roses from Arthur. Of course there was another larger table in the far corner of the room with several more vases of flowers, but the most impressive looking was a vase holding a mixture of red, white, and blue carnations with a small American flag in the center. On her bed there was a stuffed panda from Wang Yao, a polar bear from Matthew, and a mochi from Kiku. On the shelves were several large packages of fresh pasta from Feliciano, in the small refrigerator a package of wurst from Ludwig as well as fresh tomatoes from Antonio, and a small model sailboat from Peter to name a few.

Alfred smiled to see the room filled with such a cheerful atmosphere. During the hellos and goodbyes, the last Nations to leave besides Alfred and Matthew were Ivan, Francis, and Arthur. It was humorous to think back to now, but at the time Alfred had been furious.

The three of them had walked into the room like chastised little boys, caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Knowing they had been wrong in going about the situation, Francis and Arthur apologized for the way they had spoken to and treated Hope, Ivan apologizing for deceiving Alfred and Matthew as he left the other three alone. Needless to say America had been angry – he had known that Arthur had said something the day of the accident, but he hadn't known to what extent until that point. Even so, it was Hope who had immediately forgiven them, knowing that they had only done so to protect their younger brother. She knew what that felt like. After that small bump, the group of them spoke about what was going to happen in the future…since Hope knew their secret. Well, hadn't known _specifically_ yet.

"What's wrong?"

Alfred was startled out of his musings by a penetrating green stare. "Hmm…what?" he asked her, smiling.

"What's wrong Alfred? You're normally more talkative than this when you come and visit me between meetings. Is your stomach still in pain?" she asked him, eying his middle.

Alfred looked down, placing a hand on the sore but healing area. "Thirteen people died altogether, with thirty wounded. The man who did it was a psychiatrist on the base; he was of Palestinian descent, a practicing Muslim. He just…began shooting everyone where he worked. One…" he began, but had to stop and take a breath. "One of the soldiers killed was a woman. She was pregnant."

Hope looked at Alfred with sympathy in her eyes. "The other woman was from Kiel, north of here," she added softly. "I'm sure, though, that they had no regrets – that they were proud to give their lives for their people. Even President Obama gave his regrets in his speeches, and urged everyone to not give into hate towards the Muslim people…unlike a lot of what happened eight years ago."

"He's a great guy," Alfred told her with a shaky laugh, looking back up at her and smiling a little.

"What doesn't kill us makes us stronger," Hope told him. "Now, I'm pretty sure that wasn't the only thing on your mind. Now tell me what's _really_ bothering you."

He looked up, staring at her straight in the eye. "It's been two weeks since the accident," he began. "Dr. Roberts says that you're healing up just fine – you'll have no problems with any of your injuries in the future."

Hope looked down at herself. She was still wearing the casts – she would for several weeks to several months yet. Her ribs and shattered pelvis would take longer to heal – for that she would probably be using crutches or a cane for the next year. The bandages had been removed from over her head and eye, allowing her to see again – she would proudly show off her three inch long scar for the rest of her life, regaling her students with muted tales of bravery. Thankfully the head trauma she had suffered was nothing more than a slight bruising to her brain, which according to the cat scans was healing quite nicely. She had thinned out a bit too, from the hospital food most likely – her family tried to sneak her real food every time they came to visit. Even her students and the rest of the school had sent her cards and get well presents hoping for a speedy recovery, although it was very likely she wouldn't be back until spring at the very earliest, maybe not even until the next school year began the subsequent September. "…but?" she prompted, knowing he had more to say.

"But…" Alfred started. He turned his head away from her. "The others think that I am coming to see you too much, that it is interfering with my work."

"Is it?" she immediately questioned him. "Are you slacking off again Alfred?"

"No, no! Of course not!" he immediately cried, pouting at her. "I would never! Heroes never slack off on duty!"

"Then what's the problem?" she added quietly with a smile.

Alfred leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair tiredly. "The problem is…I can't stop thinking about you. You are in my thoughts each and every day that I'm not here, wondering if you're doing alright, if the doctors and nurses are taking good care of you, if the hospital –"

"Alfred, Alfred, that's enough," Hope told him with a laugh, reaching out her right hand – needle free – towards him. Alfred grasped it, curling his fingers around hers. "I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself – although you're going to spoil me with all this attention," she smirked.

He looked down at the floor, his grip on her hand tightening. "I know," he answered her in a small voice.

"This is about what Arthur said, isn't it?" she asked him quietly. "About you and I being together."

Alfred nodded.

"He is usually right about these things, you know."

His head shot up, mouth open in protest as his words were repeated back to him. "What does he know?! So what if he says it hasn't worked in the past?! That doesn't mean –"

"That doesn't mean he's stopped wanting to protect you," she interrupted him gently. "Arthur only wants you to be happy, Alfred. If that means that you and I shouldn't be together, and should stop seeing each other, than I will respect his wishes." She looked down. "I _am_ only human Alfred. I won't live forever," she told him in a whisper. "I won't be able to be with you forever either."

Alfred looked up at Hope. He saw her hiding her face from him, but clearly saw that she was in just as much pain as he was – and he was only making it more difficult on the both of them by refusing to give up. "I…I know," he finally said, squeezing her hand. "You won't live forever, but I might."

"Will," she told him firmly, looking up with a watered gaze. "My Nation will never fall."

"Hope," Alfred whispered. He stood up from his chair and leaned over the bed, using his thumb to wipe away the few tears that had streaked down her face. She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "No matter what…even if we can't be together, I will always be here for you. We will still stay in touch always."

"Always," Hope echoed, opening her eyes to look into his sky blue ones. "Alfred," she said, her voice finally breaking as more tears ran down her face. "Stay with me tonight?"

"Of course," he told her instantly. Alfred slid off his shoes and climbed up gently into the hospital bed, wary of her injuries, and wrapped his arms around Hope's frail mortal body. She cuddled against his large frame, once again inhaling deeply the familiar scent of leather, hamburgers, apple pie, and freedom.


	8. Epilogue, or The Beginning

_"…and welcome back to our special live coverage of the New Year's festivities! It is going to be absolutely amazing this year, citizens of New York! The brand new ceremonial ball, which is twice the size of the old one and twice as bright, will be christened this evening by Governor Juañita Alejandra Dominatorio, New York's first female governor as well as its first female quarterback. What an arm, leading the Jets to six Super Bowl victories during her professional career before switching to politics. She has plans within a few years to run for the presidential office, which she will no doubt claim with high percentages. We will switch to live coverage within the half hour._

_Now, we are going to switch to a live feed from one of our sister stations in the chilly state of Wisconsin. Dennis?"_

_"Thank you Sally. As most of you can see, I am not standing in the middle of a party, surrounded by thousands of people. Here, behind me, it is a quiet night at St. Gabriel's International Hospital, with a few workers on staff and patients settling in with friends and families for a night of remembrance. However, in one wing of this hospital lies one solitary woman who is a legend in her own time, who is probably celebrating what will be her very last new year…"_

The noise from the news channel faded into the background as a pair of emerald eyes watched the snow fall gently outside the large picture windows next to her bed. Settled around her were several machines, most which she barely had any idea what they really did for her anymore. All she knew is that they were keeping her body as healthy as it could be…well, healthy as any one hundred and fourteen year old woman could be. She lifted her right arm, a projected image suddenly materializing from the side of the bed. She tapped one of the simulated buttons a few times, the sound of the reporter becoming softer and softer. "Too much nonsense, not enough hard facts," she complained to herself.

"Are you finally becoming old, or am I hearing someone complaining in here?" a young male voice called out playfully as a blonde head of hair was stuck through the automatic sliding door.

The woman turned her head, a wide smile filling her entire face, causing her wrinkles to crease even further. "Alfred! You came," she cried out to him, holding out her arms.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Alfred F. Jones replied, walking into the room and accepting the frail woman's hug. He squeezed her back gently, pulling away to study her. "You've gotten more wrinkles since the last time I saw you," he told her while wagging a finger at her.

"I'm old, so sue me," she retorted quickly back at him, crossing her arms in fake annoyance. She laughed, grinning at him. "I'm glad you came Alfred."

"I wouldn't miss it!" he told her, bringing up a bag and pulling a few items out of it to set on her bed. "I've brought your favorite champagne – the real stuff, a gift from Francis. Here's some maple candy from Matthew! Oh, and Earl Grey from Arthur as well – he says two cups each day will keep you even healthier than the so called health food they give you here." He placed the items next to her on the bed, watching as she placed a hand on each one and smiled. "And from me –" he said with dramatic flair, keeping his hand inside of the bag for extra emphasis, "– a bouquet of irises, your favorite," he told her with a gentle smile, bending down and placing them in front of her.

"Alfred, they're beautiful," she breathed softly, taking them from his hands and putting them up to her face, inhaling the scent deeply. "Wherever did you find them this time of year? Even for you," she added, giving him a sideways glance.

"Ivan," he explained. "They're Siberian Irises."

"Ah," she said, inhaling their scent once more. "Could you put them in the vase for me?"

"Of course," he told her, grabbing the bouquet and turning to face the small round table near the flat television screen on the wall. As he did, he saw the pictures and images from the past year scrolling across the screen. He smiled satisfactorily to himself, knowing he had done a good job.

"There, all set," he called as the irises sat gaily in a purple glass vase. "Now, how shall we –" he began to say, but paused as he turned around. The woman was leaning back in the bed, trying to take in deeper breaths, her hand clutching the front of her robe. Alfred walked calmly up to her, grabbing a mask from behind her bed and flipping on the oxygen. He placed it in front of her face and she took several greedy breaths, looking up at him with grateful eyes as he helped her hold it over her nose and mouth. "It's getting worse, isn't it?" he asked her quietly.

The old woman nodded, her gasping slowing as the oxygen did its job.

"…I guess you were right then…" he said, remembering her words from over eighty years ago.

"I've lived a good and wonderful life Alfred," she said finally, placing her wrinkled and aged hand over his as she pulled the oxygen mask away. "I've lived to be one hundred and fourteen…much older than anyone in my family, for that matter."

Alfred did not smile, only replaced the oxygen mask back on the rack next to the large tank behind her bed. "I know," he told her, pulling the chair that was next to the bed even closer to it so he could wrap his large, wrinkle-free hands around hers.

"You know…" she said, trailing off momentarily as she stared into his face. "You truly haven't aged a day since I first met you." And he hadn't. Alfred was still the young, handsome, mid-twenties looking man with bright blue eyes and wavy blonde hair, and that stubborn curl in the middle of it all. Texas still sat upon the bridge of his nose, as unbroken as the day it had been repaired. However, he was no longer in his military uniform; Alfred was wearing his casual clothes – a pair of khaki pants, a navy blue sweater with two large lines going across the chest in red and white, and his favorite pair of sneakers that she had given him long ago as a birthday present. They were well worn, but the blue and red stars all over them still shown proudly, the laces having tiny American flags to boot.

"And you have gotten…more mature," Alfred told her. She pinched the skin on his hand gently. "What! You have matured well, like a fine wine," he told her, "wrinkles and all."

"You're so kind," she said back to him, but there was no bite in her words. Oh, how she had changed since her youth! Her long, thick, curly brown hair had been reduced to a thinning head of silver curls. Her once penetrating emerald green eyes had slowly dulled until they were a hunter green, and smooth skin was now marred by wrinkles and age spots. "I look old."

"You look beautiful," he told her, reaching up and cupping her cheek in his hand.

"Now you're turning into Francis," she responded with a laugh.

"Heaven forbid!" Alfred said, mocking a faint.

"How are they, your brothers?" she asked him honestly. "Are they well? How is Arthur's leg?"

"They are all doing well. Arthur is using a walking cast now, so he's as grumpy as ever. Leave it to him to be the only Nation to actually hurt himself walking out his own front door." The two of them laughed before Alfred continued. "Matthew is doing very well – he's been at the forefront of the meetings lately, especially with his new organic fuel sources being number one on the rest of the Nation's lists."

"Aren't your farmers helping with that too? To grow all that corn?" she interrupted him.

Alfred nodded. "It has definitely helped, figuring out that this bio-engineered fuel is five times as productive as oil was. Anyway…Francis is busy reconstructing his Eiffel Tower, after the old one grew so rusty that it was becoming a danger to the area around it. His new one is going to be twice as big and twice as flashy, or so I've heard."

"I wouldn't doubt it for a moment," she told him, completely serious.

"How is your family? I've heard that your great-granddaughter is following in your footsteps," he asked her.

"Grace? Oh yes – only five and practically a master of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," the woman said with a laugh, only to begin coughing roughly. Alfred leaned up and rubbed gentle circles on her back until she finished. "Hmm, as I was saying, yes she is indeed. It seems like the music genes in my family skip a generation or so."

"Your little brother was a great violin player," Alfred pointed out.

"Yes, yes he was," the woman replied wistfully.

"Fifteen years last September, wasn't it?" he asked her softly.

"Right in his sleep, bless him – never felt any pain whatsoever." Her green eyes closed momentarily. "You know, I can feel it. Right here," she told him, placing a hand over her heart. "Tonight is going to be the night Alfred."

The United States of America looked down, studying a stray fiber on her blanket. "How do you know?"

"Alfred, goodness – I'm one hundred and fourteen! I've got to go sometime – tonight's a good a night as any to do so." She paused, squeezing his hand. "I made sure to live through your three hundredth official birthday, and now I'm living out seeing a new century. I've lived long enough to see cars fly off the ground, and have even taken a trip into space. Computers are so small but so powerful that they can fit onto the tip of your finger. Everything is so different from when I was younger; everything has evolved so much since we first met."

Alfred looked up at the woman. "I know it has. And in only ninety years too."

"Thanks to you," she told him gratefully. "If you hadn't been the one to start pushing the government in the right direction, to focus all of the countries resources on the children and their education, we wouldn't be here now."

He blushed slightly. "I really didn't do all that much."

"Nonsense. Arthur, Francis, and Matthew would all agree with me too."

Since that year, Alfred and President Obama had begun a complete reconstruction of the entire public education system in America. They had put higher expectations to the students, as well as making sure each grade level had a well rounded education that included a larger emphasis on the arts and physical education. Teachers were also taught differently – only those with an actual passion for teaching and for their students were allowed into the classrooms. Those teachers who had been in the system, or were lackluster at best, were either re-taught or taken out altogether and set up as aides in the schools instead. Since then, standardized test scores had risen exponentially and the United States of America had gone from 38th place amongst the countries in rank to 7th.

Alfred felt his face flush even more so, but only because he was happy. He knew he had been working hard lately, and it was all due to her. He turned around, looking at the muted television, only to notice her on it. "Hey, you're on television!" he cried, waving his hand over the side bar of her bed until the projection of the buttons popped up. He pressed one several times, and the news anchor's voice suddenly grew much louder.

_"…as well as her many achievements throughout the years, here now is our special dedicated to the only teacher to receive the annual Teacher of the Year award not once, not twice, but five times in her forty year career in the public school system."_

The screen faded momentarily, before a picture of a young woman with a mess of curly brown hair appeared, smiling. _"Hope Richardson was born in 1985 in the state of Wisconsin to a loving family, which was one of her greatest influences in her teaching career. Her parents allowed her to try everything, until she found she had a musical talent unlike any in her family. Beginning with the piano, she soon moved on to learning the cello – which would be her lifelong forte. Throughout her schooling years she participated in orchestras in the area as well as within her school, playing at every opportunity she could. Upon entering college, she knew she wanted to spread this joy with children of all ages, and so entered into the once diminishing field of music education. After four plus long years, she finally graduated and began teaching at one of the local Milwaukee high schools._

_However, only one year into her bright career tragedy struck. Hope was hit by a car and suffered severe physical trauma, which would limit her range of movement for years to come as well as give her a permanent limp on her right side, forcing her to use a cane for the rest of her life. However, this period in her life is seen as the true beginning of her career._

_After returning to her position, Hope was endowed with a renewed sense of duty towards her students and to the music she loved. She began with a small group of only thirty-five students in the string program at her high school, and developed it over a fifteen year period into a group of over one hundred and fifty students that toured the globe. You see, Hope knew the value of the melting pot of her students; the second year she was there she instated the semiannual fundraising concerts that she held twice a year, every year, which was themed according to the cultural background of her students. Later of course she would broaden her themes, but that year she did something completely unexpected in this city: she had a concert completely dedicated to her African American students tracing their roots from native percussive pieces straight from Africa to the southern gospel trailing from the slaves to jazz and even hip hop and rap as it was in the late twentieth century._

_Even though she was discriminated against, and support from parents and administrators alike fell through, she continued onto the next largest culture in her classroom: those of Hispanic origin, and only six months later. This performance too was criticized, and almost cost Hope her position had someone of great political importance not taken note in her efforts. President Barack Obama personally flew out to Wisconsin and walked right into her classroom to shake her hand. Obviously stunned, public opinion of Hope's program grew, and supporters began emerging from the woodwork to supply her with the money for new sheet music, new instruments, and new uniforms._

_However, this was just the beginning of her endeavors. Hope began touring with her orchestra around the southeastern part of the state and promoting her multicultural views with students in the area. By digging into history and her students, Hope created a trend that would last for years with her students: not only the love of music, but of being proud of who you are and where you came from – not only in your past, but of the here and now, a sense of nationalism. Three years into the expansion of her program was the first time that Hope received the Teacher of the Year award – her and her orchestra of now fifty students were invited to the White House to meet with President Barack Obama and celebrate his re-election as president…"_

"Oh, Alfred, shut that off," Hope told him with a smile. "I don't need to hear my praises sung in my ear when I know them all already."

"But how often do you get to be on television? This is epic!" he told her.

"Oh, alright…" she sighed, shaking her head. How could she deny Alfred? He was just too cute when he was excited about something.

_"…that summer, when she married her husband…"_

Hope laughed. "Bless him, he was a saint for how patient he was with me."

Alfred turned towards her. "Eddie was a great guy," he admitted with a smile. "Had one heck of a spiral!"

"Do you remember when I first introduced you to him?" Hope asked him. "You were worse than my father!"

"What? All I was doing was cleaning my musket," he said innocently, "with the bayonet attached yet."

"I think he got the idea," she replied dryly. "I'm just glad the two of you were able to become friends," she added in a soft voice.

Alfred reached over a grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently. "You couldn't have done any better."

She looked up, seeing a sincere face. "Thank you."

_"…which did not become as famous as it is now until her seventh year when she began touring nationally. With the funds raised by her two semiannual concerts each year at the school, Hope now had enough money to take her students across the country and visit different historical places that coincided with the music her students would play. Due to this emphasis on not only music history but history in general, and the appreciation and admiration Hope had which she passed onto her students, diplomats and foreign visitors would flock to her performances no matter what city or state they happened to be in._

_In her tenth year, it finally happened. Hope received an invitation from Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II to play a special private concert for Parliament as well as at the historical Globe Theater in which William Shakespeare had staged many of his works. To say that this was an amazing achievement for such a young teacher was an understatement. Her high school orchestra, which now ranged in the eighty student plus mark, was sent over on one of Her Majesty's private planes with their instruments to England and performed for her people, as well as were given the opportunity of a weeklong historical tour of the country as well._

_This however, would not be her last overseas trip with her students. In the months following…"_

Hope yawned. "Really Alfred, do we have to watch this? Isn't the ball going to be dropping in New York soon?"

"Yes, it is," Alfred said with a bit of surprise in his voice. "It's already 10:12 here – in another forty-eight minutes it will be 2100 in New York."

"The year two thousand and one hundred…" Hope said with a bit of awe in her voice. "It still amazes me that I've been on this earth for that long."

Alfred looked at Hope as she watched the television. She was no longer young, by any means – although maybe at heart. Her body was slowly failing her, especially after that partial stroke she suffered from five years ago. It had weakened the left side of her body, but not completely – she still retained all of her movement. Considering her age and her physical ailments, she had astounded all of her doctors by continuing to press on. Until two months ago, however, when Hope had suddenly taken a turn for the worse.

She had been found collapsed in her apartment by one of her daughters, and rushed to the hospital. Her old injuries had been bothering her again, and her hip had finally given out. Even so, the doctors now found that her internal organs were entering the beginning stages of shutting down – they told her she hadn't had more than several more months to live.

As hard as it was, Hope knew she had to contact her best friend and tell him the news: that she was dying. Alfred had taken it hard; he had left her hospital room and made no contact with her for three days straight. When he returned, however, he was not alone: Matthew, Francis, and Arthur all accompanied him to the fragile woman's bedside in what would be the last room she would ever occupy. Matthew, the poor boy, was nearly in tears at finding out the one human whom the Nations had been allowed to get close to was finally nearing the end of her mortal life. Francis was the romantic, as always, bringing her flowers and chocolates and sweet nonsensical French words to lighten her mood. Arthur and Alfred were the two quietest, sitting next to her bed and not offering much to say.

Hope had come to terms with her mortality years ago, but knew it would be the hardest to leave behind the men she had come to love as her own immortal family. She started to receive calls from the other Nations too – others who had invited her and her students to their countries, others who had fostered relations with her that went much farther, up to the political members of the United States who followed her lead and began to foster good tidings towards all countries and not just their allies. The Nations had been those to support her in her teaching endeavors – they knew that they only way to change the world was truly through their youth. If Hope was the one to lead that first wave, they knew it would take time but couldn't possibly fail.

Alfred smiled, remembering that first trip that Arthur had sent her students on. He had tagged along as a chaperone, one of "Ms. Richardson's teaching friends." Those students were now well into the time of having their own grandchildren. Many of her first students grew to be famous themselves; politicians, teachers, movie stars, singers – you name it, they became it. And each and every one of them owed it to the teacher who opened their eyes to their history; that in order to move forward they had to learn from whence they came.

Suddenly, another cacophonous wave of coughing brought Alfred out of his musings. He quickly stood up and grabbed the oxygen mask from behind Hope once again and held it up to her face, rubbing her back to ease the pained look she had. However…this fit did not cease. "Al…Alfred…" Hope coughed out.

He knew. He suddenly knew that something else was wrong. "Hold on – I'll get them. Just keep trying to breathe," he told her, bringing up her hand to hold the mask. She nodded, her wrinkled hand shaking as they tried to hold the mask in place. Alfred ran from the room, calling for the doctors.

Thirty minutes later, Hope lay still on her bed, her chest barely moving up and down. A tube was placed down her throat to send oxygen directly into her lungs, but it wouldn't matter for much longer. She was dying.

~:~:~

"…_and you're sure it will work?"_

"_Well, it _has_ only been tried once before. Alfred, are you sure about this? What if –"_

"_I have thought about this every day for the last five years. And you know I wouldn't ask if I already knew it wasn't possible _or_ if I wasn't sure that she would do it. Please Arthur…help me."_

"…_A-Alright. The first thing we need to do then is…"_

~:~:~

"Mr. Jones, I am afraid that she doesn't have much time left," the young doctor told him as they stood out in the hallway outside of her room.

"I know," he answered, looking through the glass as the nurses made Hope comfortable. "Will…will it be soon?"

"Within the hour, most likely, at the rate her organ functions are ceasing. She already cannot to breathe on her own, and her cardiovascular muscles are weakening as her pulse slows. All we can do now is make her comfortable and be with her. Is there anyone else we can contact?" he asked him in a kind voice.

Alfred shook his head. "Her family will be here soon enough. I just want to be with her when she…you know…"

"Of course sir. She has asked not to be resuscitated, as stated in her will. The nurses will come in to turn off the machines when…well, you know when. Do _you_ need anything?"

"No, but thank you," Alfred said just as the nurse emerged from the room.

"She is conscious, but the medicine we gave her will help ease the pain," she told the doctor and Alfred.

"Thank you," Alfred told her, then turned and walked back into the room. Hope was lying down now, a small tube inserted down her throat and directly into her lungs to feed her oxygen. Her eyes were slightly glazed over, giving her a spacey look, but she stared hard at Alfred as he walked up next to her. "Hey, how are you feeling?" he asked her, smiling.

She nodded, her lips curling up in a smile around the tube trailing out the side of her mouth.

"I bet," he answered with a short laugh. Alfred sat down, and took her hand in his. "They say you don't have much time left," he told her in quiet voice.

She rolled her eyes at him as if to say _no duh._

"You don't know how heroic you look right now, facing death head first," he told her. "I…can't die. I have no idea what it feels like to die, or will ever know what it feels like. Nations fade away, disappear…to where or even why we don't know. If our countries and people do not exist anymore, neither do we."

The room was silent, save for the small slow beeping noise tracking the rhythm of Hope's slowing heartbeat. She reached out her hand towards him, and Alfred grasped it as the noise from the television slowly murmured in the background…

_"In a few moments, we will be switching to the live coverage of what will probably be this year's biggest announcement. As the ball in New York drops, United States Madame President Eleanor Schulte and Vice President Neil Ararang as well as several diplomats and foreign politicians will be gathering to sign into effect the documentation that will declare the beginning of a new country here in the western hemisphere. For too long has it been under American protection, and now is gaining its own independence from this point forward…"_

~:~:~

"_At the same time?"_

"_Yes…this is why it barely even worked the last time. You must make sure both events happen at the _exact_ same moment, otherwise it will be someone else, someone new."_

"_The President I know can stall the ceremonies for me…but how…how do you tell someone to hurry up and die?" There was a small sniffle._

_A hand was placed on his shoulder. "Are you still sure you want to do this Alfred? If it does or does not work…no one will think any less of you for at least trying."_

_Alfred looked up at Arthur, placing a hand over his. "I want to do this. She's done so much for me, that doing this is the least I can do for her."_

"_Beyond sentimental reasons," Arthur told him, rolling his eyes. "We all know that you never stopped loving her, even after she got married and had children of her own."_

_Alfred looked down. Even so…he had been the first person Hope had run to after Edward had suddenly died of a fatal heart attack. He still remembers that night she spent with him at his home, curled up in his arms and sobbing after their fifty-two year marriage together. Edward knew that Hope and Alfred had a special relationship, something deeper than even he had shared with his wife. Although he never questioned it, he knew that there were some things in life he just wasn't going to understand._

_Hope never remarried, never was interested in any other men, although she started spending more time with her children and their children, as well as her extended family around the globe._

"_Alfred…are you doing this because you want another chance with her, or are you doing this just to save a friend's life?"_

~:~:~

_Fifteen minutes_…Alfred thought to himself as he looked at the small clock on the bottom right corner of the television screen. He turned to face Hope, watching the tubes pump oxygen into her lungs as she closed her eyes and rested. She looked so peaceful now, that he began doubting his decision. _What if…what if she doesn't want this? Should I ask her after all? What if Arthur was right, and I'm only doing this to be selfish? What if…?_ his thought trailed off as he saw Hope open her eyes.

"Hey," he told her, leaning over, "are you ready? The ball in New York is going to be dropping soon."

Hope blinked sleepily at him, nodding. She made an upwards motion with her hand.

"You want me to raise the bed so you can see?"

She nodded.

"Alright." Alfred waved his hand at the side of the bed until the projected buttons appeared, and he pressed and held one for a few seconds. The back of Hope's bed tilted upwards to a forty-five degree angle, allowing her to rest comfortably and see the screen at the same time. "Better?"

Hope nodded once again, her eyes watching the images of millions of people in Times Square in New York cheering and blowing party favors. Alfred pulled his eyes to the screen as well, but was interrupted by a buzzing feeling in his pocket. He pulled out his cell phone, seeing a text message sent to him. It was from Eleanor – probably one of the hippest and up-to-date Presidents he had ever worked with. Smiling, he flipped it open.

_How are you doing? Do you need more time?_ she asked him.

Alfred used his thumb to quickly send her another message back. _Not sure – how long until the announcement and signing of the documents?_ He sent the message and waited a minute until he received another message.

_The ball drops in 12 minutes, so the signing will begin as soon as the ball hits the bottom, and the announcement will come after that has been completed. Altogether the entire process will take about 2-3 minutes._

Alfred thought this over. _It won't be long, so keep going for now. If something comes up, I'll call._

Silence. Then a buzz. _Roger that – good luck Alfred. Neil says we'll be waiting for good news._

He smiled. _Tell him thanks – talk soon._ He flipped the small device closed and shoved it back in his pocket. Looking over, he saw Hope staring at him through half lidded eyes. "What?" he asked her.

She motioned her eyes from his face to his pocket.

"Oh, that was nothing. Just some well wishing from Eleanor and Neil."

Hope narrowed her eyes at him. _As if Alfred. Now what's going on? I might be dying, but I'm not blind,_ she seemed to say to him.

Alfred looked away from her. "Let's just watch some television, alright?"

Hope squeezed his hand. _Hard_. "Al…fred…" she managed to cough out around the tube. "What's…wr-rong?"

He looked back at her, staring into those green eyes. "Hope…what if…what if you could live forever…like me? Like Arthur, and Matthew, and Francis? You couldn't see your family, or contact them, but you wouldn't die…"

She blinked, confused.

He turned around, his confidence suddenly renewed. "Hope, listen to me. There is a way to save your life tonight, but you have to want to do it. You have to want not to die, but to live. Do you want to live?" he pleaded with her, holding her hand tightly between his.

Hope blinked again, confusion etched across her face. The painkillers had dulled her senses, but not her mind. "Wh…at?" she whispered around the breathing tube. Suddenly, her face scrunched up in pain, and her body stiffened as the machines began to beep wildly around her. Her hand clenched into a fist within Alfred's.

"Hope? Hope!" Alfred cried, watching her fight the pain in her body. He darted his glance to the television. 10:57. Three minutes until it began. "Hope, listen to me. You hang on for five minutes for me. Please?" he begged her.

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. The sudden pain disappeared, as well as almost every other feeling she did have. Hope was rapidly losing feeling in her outer extremities, and felt herself becoming colder. Knowing that this was probably it, she smiled up at Alfred. "Tube," she managed to cough out.

Alfred nodded, and gently grabbed the plastic tube coming out of her mouth and pulled. Hope barely gagged, and it slid out near painlessly. The machines began to beep louder, now that the oxygen wasn't going anywhere, but Alfred paid them no heed as he laid it down behind her head. "Hope?" he whispered to her.

"Alfred," she said quietly. "You've…always been there…for me…" she told him, smiling once more.

_"And here we go ladies and gentlemen! Let's begin the countdown! Ten…nine…eight…seven…"_

"I…I've always wanted to tell you…"

_"Six…five…four…three…"_

"What is it?" Alfred asked her as he saw that she was beginning to slip away from him.

_"Two…one…happy New Year, New York! And there you have it – Madame President Eleanor has just begun the signing the Independence Treaty. Once the rest of the delegates sign it as well, it will be official!"_

"Wanted to…tell you that I…I…" Hope's eyes began to close as her breathing became extremely labored.

_No! Not yet!_ Alfred screamed in his head. "Hope? What were you going to tell me Hope?" he implored her. "Don't leave me Hope. Please don't leave me," he told her, tears rolling down his face.

_"And there goes Vice President Ararang! Four more signatures to go!"_

"Won't…Alfred…" Hope said in the barest of whispers. "Promised…"

"You did, didn't you?" Alfred replied in a cracked voice. "So did I…I promised to be there for you, no matter what. I want to keep that promise."

"You did," she told him, opening her eyes to look up at him. "Thank you."

"Anytime," he said, bringing her hand up to give it a gentle kiss.

Hope smiled, and found the strength to move her hand to brush it against the side of his face. "No tears," she reprimanded him softly.

"Can't help it," Alfred whispered, closing his eyes and leaning into her cool touch. He could feel the warmth leaving her as he held her hand in place, the muscles shaking at what used to be such a simple task.

_"And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen! Let's listen in closely!" The camera panned in to show at least a dozen middle-aged politicians standing across the stage, smiling. One woman with coppery red hair stepped forward, holding the hand of the Governor of Puerto Rico._

_The two women raised their entwined left and right hands, and shouted as one…_

"Alfred…I…I love…"

_"We now declare the independent country of –"_

"Hope…"

"…love you…"

_"– the Nation of Puerto Rico!"_

_**Bbbbbbbbbb-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-pppppppppp…**_

~:~:~

"_Alfred, listen to me – I have one more thing to tell you. When someone becomes a Nation, if they were previously human or even a different Nation, for that matter, they…may not always remember their previous life."_

"_Holy Roman Empire…" Alfred mused out loud. "When he became Germany, you mean."_

_Arthur nodded. "Exactly. If this does work, and I mean it is a billion-to-one shot – timing Hope's death with the announcement of Puerto Rico becoming an independent country…I just don't want you to be disappointed if nothing happens."_

"_It will work," Alfred said, with a fierce look of determination in his eyes…of someone who doesn't know the meaning of failure._

~:~:~

"Alfred! Alfred, wait for me!" a quiet voice called.

The large Nation turned around, surprise on his face. "Matthew! What's the rush? The meeting doesn't start for another five minutes."

"I know!" he said, panting but with a large smile on his face as he ran up to join him. "I just forgot a few documents in my room – Kumajirou is saving my seat for me. But…I wanted to know…how are you doing? You know, with all of the changes lately."

Alfred sighed, turning to look down the hallway. "It's been difficult, I'll be blunt. The new independent government is still toddling, although the governor turned Madame President is handling it well. Eleanor and Neil have been back and forth a lot in the last two months since the treaty was signed for independence."

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?" Matthew asked him, tilting his head to the side. "Of our own independence."

"It does," Alfred agreed. "I'm just glad this went smoother than mine did."

"No war is a good thing," Matthew said. He then grinned, bumping his twin in the shoulder. "How is the…_other_ thing?"

Alfred flushed. "What other thing?"

"You know," Matthew said slyly, winking at him. "With –"

"Alfred!" a female voice called out happily, a pair of high-heeled feet walking quickly towards them.

The twin North American countries turned as one, both smiling at the Nation. It was a woman with a slightly darker complexion, like a nice tan, wearing a female military uniform of a green knee length skirt and military blazer. Her country's flag was proudly emblazoned across the shoulders, as well as on a small pin on her lapel. It was made up of a blue triangle with a single white star on the left side, and a series of alternating white and red stripes on the other. "Canada! America!" she greeted them warmly, embracing Canada first.

"Puerto Rico! I haven't seen you lately – is everything alright?" Matthew asked her, addressing her with her official title.

"Busy, but nothing I can't handle," she told him, the slight Hispanic accent trailing cleanly off her lips. She then turned and literally jumped into America's eagerly awaiting arms. "I've missed you the most," she told him, wrapping her arms around his neck and placing a kiss on his cheek.

Alfred twirled her around once, inhaling the fresh tropical breezes. "So have I – it's been a full week, hasn't it?" he asked her, setting her down. He shook his head in amazement. "You look…wonderful. Are you ready for your first meeting as an official Nation?" he asked her, smiling.

"Nervous, but nothing I can't handle," she told him with a wink. She linked her arms, one with Canada and one with America. "Ready boys?"

"Of course!" they replied as one, and all three of them laughed as they walked down the hallway towards the wooden set of double doors. As they arrived, Alfred and Matthew let go of her and each took a handle. Opening the doors, immediately there was the loud sound of clapping and giving of congratulations.

Alfred took up his place by her side, sliding his hand into hers. "Ready?" he whispered to her. She looked up at him with piercing emerald green eyes, her wild chocolate curls pulled back neatly with a barrette. Standing up straight, Alfred pronounced his next words with a great joy swelling in his chest.

"Now entering the summit of Nations, the Nation of Puerto Rico…Hope Jones."


End file.
